


Dormmates

by justagayarmin



Series: College Dorks [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anger Management, Angst, Asexual Armin Arlert, Bisexual Jean, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Eventual Sex, F/F, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Bullying, Implied/Referenced Depression, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pansexual Marco, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Hatred, Some Plot, Suicidal Thoughts, Teasing, Violence, it'll happen, negative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-28 19:49:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 112,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3867661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justagayarmin/pseuds/justagayarmin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bodt has just begun college at Trost U, and moves into a dorm where his dorm mate has yet to show up. After witnessing a beautiful man get in a hideous argument at Little Titan Cafe, he goes back to his dorm only to find that he is his new dormmate. Jean Kirschten, he calls himself. Will Marco's college days be ruined by Jean's rude attitude towards him and everyone else? or will Jean warm up to the Tall Freckled Dork and form a new close relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scarf-Man

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! so this is going to be my first ever multi-chapter fic, i have no idea how long it'll be or when i'll update, but i'll try to make it as soon as possible! i'll add tags/relationships as i go, and i don't know if the rating will change later or not. Most likely will change
> 
> Edit: stick around for a while! my writing style improves immensely in later chapters  
> Edit2: I did some editing in the first half of the fic, since i really didn't like how it sounded. Everything happened so fast, and now i think it sounds a lot smoother!

"Summer is really humid this year, huh?" Marco grunted, clutching onto a heavy cardboard box filled with his belongings. The sun continued to beat down mercilessly on his back, and the brunette was _really_ starting to regret wearing a black t-shirt today of all days. The car radio had said that it was going to be one of the hottest days of the year, and 'Ma had _tried_ to warn him before he left, but he ignored both of them in favor of rushing his things to his car. Now, as the heat collected and pounded on his back, he wished he had listened.

The cicada's screams suddenly came from the tree trunks nearby, and Marco winced at the sound. They certainly didn't have any of those back in Jinae, so getting used to their ear piercing cries would be a challenge. They seemed to be the only active ones, every other insect wisely staying deep under the cool ground.

Marco, meanwhile, didn't get the luxury of hiding in the shade or burying himself underground. The trek from his car to the large brick building was a long one, and with no overhanging trees to give him even a second of relief. Every breath he took filled him with suffocatingly hot air, and he would have died had it not been for the thought of an air-conditioned room ahead. He quickened his pace towards the looming building, sweat steadily collecting beneath his hands that held onto the cardboard box. As finally pushed his way through the twin doors he sighed in relief as cool, breathable air surrounded him.

Once he'd recovered from his near-death experience, Marco trudged to his right to his conveniently located dorm room. This was the last time he would have to carry his stuff back here, thank _god_. It wasn't as if the boxes were too heavy much for him, but the heat had definitely left him weaker than usual.

Pushing open the door with his hip, Marco entered room 104 and placed the last of the packed boxes onto the ground with a relieved sigh. He rubbed at his sore back and arms, for a bit before wiping the sweat from his brow. He felt his shirt stick to his back, and grimaced at how gross he felt. Marco ached both metaphorically and physically to take a long, cold shower.

But first, he had a few guests to say goodbye to. 'Ma and 'Pa were standing by the doorway, but it didn't seem like they wanted to leave him just yet.

And Marco didn't blame them.

After _four long years_ of nightly homework, exhausting projects, pointless labs, and countless tests, Marco finally gets to escape from his high school life and do it all over again at Trost University. It was the college he’d always dreamed of getting into, and now that dream was becoming a reality.

Though, finally getting to this point was a lot more difficult than he'd thought. Marco vividly remembered how terrified he was during the placement exam, and how afraid he was that he wouldn't finish the test. And with two minutes left in the testing period, the freckled man managed to turn in the paper that held his future with trembling hands. He even stumbled as he walked out of the classroom.

When a letter addressed to him decorated with Trost U's crest arrived in the mail, Marco thought his heart would stop in his chest. He had waited until his parents returned from work to open it, and soon enough all of his family members were crowded around him at the dining table. While holding the envelope, everyone's eyes flickered between looking at Marco's twitching face and the shaking, unopened results in his hands.

The first few times he went to open it, he would chicken out at the last second afraid of what he might or might not see. And after his third failed attempt, his rambunctious little sister rudely yanked it from his hands and ripped it open. She then proceeded to read the results out loud to him, since he was "too much of a baby to read a stupid paper".

His parents lectured her about being polite and letting people do things at their own pace afterwards.

And now, here he was, accepted into his first choice of college, about to start his new life as an independent adult.

A short woman covered in freckles appeared from behind Marco’s beast of a Dad, and looked up at him with a motherly look of concern. The wrinkles on her forehead were more prominent than usual. “Are you sure you don’t need any help with anything? Not with unpacking or finding your classes or making friends—"

Marco cut her off with a smile, and shook his head at the tiny woman. “It’s fine, ‘Ma. I'll find them eventually, and I'm not in the first grade, you know. I can make friends just fine.” he reassured.

“Don't worry, honey. He’s a grown man, just like his father! He’s strong enough to get through any problem he faces!” His dad boomed, clapping his son proudly on the shoulder. But despite his father's manly bravado, he could see tears collecting at the corners of his brown eyes. His mother looked even more upset than her father running her hands through her long, straight hair at the thought of her baby being left on his own.

She tried to blink away the tears before Marco could notice, but she wasn't quick enough. One slipped by, and she swiped it away just before her son came forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. She clung back just as tight, and 'Pa turned it into a group hug, his long arms wrapped around them protectively.

"Are you really going to be alright?" 'Ma worried.

The freckled man squeezed her arm comfortingly. "Don't worry. I'll get by somehow."

"...I wish you could always stay my baby boy." she longed, but it was an unrealistic wish and they all knew it. Marco had to spread his wings and leave if he wanted to survive out in the real world, and the brunette was ready to take flight.

Finally, the three of them separated from their hug. Both of his parents' eyes were still watery, but this time they were looking at him with pride and love instead of worry.

"Goodbye, son." 'Pa smiled, patting his shoulder more gently this time. The two of them made their way out of his dorm, and Marco waved goodbye to both of them until they turned down the hallway. Closing the door softly, Marco took in the silence that seemed a little too large for him alone to fill.

Until a shrill voice came from _right behind his door_.

“Don’t do drugs! And don’t drink! Be extra careful out there! And if you meet a lucky girl then make sure you  _use protection!_ I love you Baby Boo!” His mom cried, making him nearly jump out of his skin and flush from embarrassment.

He could practically feel her voice through the wood. Thank _god_ she didn't mention his name, or he might have had to transfer schools on the first day. _  
_

Once he heard their footsteps retreating, at last he let out a distressed sigh. "What an awful way to start off the year."

Marco ran his fingers through his hair, a habit he picked up from 'Ma, and looked around at the empty room. Well, nearly empty. A bunk bed, two closets, and two desks were set up on different sides of the room, with one window facing the parking lot. Aside from that it was a pretty boring room to look at. Once Marco started to unpack, however, the place became just a little homier. But even then, half of the room remained completely uninhabited.

He was _supposed_ to have a dormmate, but he must have not arrived yet. Marco wasn't told anything about the mysterious character either, except that it was a boy. For all he knew he could be a serial killer, or a creep, or even worse, _homophobic._ Those kinds of people always made him extremely uncomfortable, considering he wasn't straight and all. If he ended up being that bad, he could always file for a new dormmate or something.

The brunette ripped off the packing tape from one of his boxes and pulled out some more of his stuff, all the while wondering just what he would be like. He hoped they were at least nice.

Despite what he'd told his mother, a part of him  _did_ worry about whether he could make friends here. Moving to a new city like this, there wasn't a single person he would recognize. He truly did feel like he was on his own this time, and in all honesty it felt pretty...lonely.

The freckled man shook his head. He didn't need to be thinking like that right now. It was his first day of _college!_ The most liberating, social, and exciting time of a person's life! This is the time where people look back and say "Remember when we did this in college", and laugh about it as adults. He was sure he could find some friends if he really tried.

Marco let out a puff of air and straightened the lamp on his desk before looking around and smiling. After an hour and half, he’d finally finished unpacking and was ultimately satisfied with how his side of the dorm looked. Everything had a place, and everything was straightened to his liking. Marco, being a fairly neat person, felt a bubble of happiness at seeing everything so nicely put together.

Unlocking his phone, he noticed it was already 2:13 PM. He still needed to figure out where his classes were before-hand and to check out the area though...

Tonight, the idea of leaving his dorm seemed really unappealing to him. He just wanted to enjoy being alone for the first time in 18 years, with no nosy parents or little gremlins to bother him and invade his privacy. He loved them, he truly did, but he needed this time to relax as much as he could.

So Marco hopped over to his desk chair, spinning a few times before coming to a stop in front of his laptop he received as a graduation gift. Starting up the computer, he allowed himself to get immersed and lost in countless videos and websites for hours.

\----------------------------------------------------------

When he blinked again, Marco looked down to the time displayed on his screen. 11:02 PM.

“When did it get so…” he began, but didn't finish in favor of letting out a large lion-like yawn.

Marco rubbed his eyes blearily and decided that he should probably get off. After closing all of his tabs and shutting down his computer, he dragged his feet over to his closet in search of a loose t-shirt. Once he got what he needed, he stripped down to his boxers and slipped the shirt over his head. Climbing up to the top of the bunk, Marco crawled under his covers and turned onto his side, letting his eyes easily slip closed.

All night, he dreamed of all of the different types of people his anonymous roommate could turn out to be.

\----------------------------------------------------------

Waking up the next morning was abrupt to say the least, being the light sleeper that he is. As he roused from his deep sleep, he heard loud shouts coming from further down his hallway and wondered what was going on at…8:52 AM on a Sunday morning. Climbing down the side of the bunk bed, Marco opened his door cautiously as he heard thuds coming closer and getting louder.

“Sasha I am going to _KICK YOUR ASS!!”_  a male voice threatened from the distance. Curiosity officially piqued, Marco decided to investigate a little bit. But before he could, a blur of brown and the source of the thudding dashed past him, the wind leaving his mid-parted black hair ruffled in strange places. The creature left behind a small bag of Ranch flavored Doritos, which Marco promptly picked up from the floor.

But the lost item didn't go unnoticed by the beast by a landslide. They stopped immediately and turned around to retrieve it from the tall freckled man. Marco finally realized that it wasn't a wild animal running down the hallway, but a girl with her arms overflowing with different snacks. She smiled up and him and pointed towards the Doritos that Marco held in his hand. “Hey! Thanks for picking that up for me, uh…”

“Marco,” he replied with wide, owlish eyes. He looked her up and down, her outfit consisting of a tank-top and loose PJ bottoms. The long ponytail on her head swished back and forth, not unlike a horse's tail. He decided that she looked nice enough, and considering how early it was he gave her a small smile. “And you are?”

She pointed her thumb towards herself, dropping a few more snacks onto the floor in the process. It was a bag of apple slices and a box of chocolate chip cookies, and he couldn't help thinking it was a strange combination. “I’m—“

 _“SASHA!”_ A voice yelled from close by, and the girl, apparently Sasha, paled as her eyes went impossibly wide.

She cursed and picked up the items from the ground, and after yanking the Doritos from Marco’s hands, she ran off, once again resembling a wild beast. A faint ‘thanks’ could be heard over the thudding of her feet, which he just now noticed were bare.

A few seconds later a short man with a buzz cut came around the corner, huffing and puffing, presumably searching for something. Or in this case, someone. He and Marco made eye contact, and the brunette jumped slightly at his intense stare. A few seconds later he came marching towards the poor bystander.

“Hey, have you seen a chick running around here, probably with food in her arms if it hasn't made its way to her stomach already?” he demanded from him, refusing to break eye contact. Marco silently pointed in the direction Sasha had fled off to. “Thanks man” he said, clapping his shoulder before running after her, and taking with him the last of the morning ruckus.

 _Huh._ Marco thought. _Weird._

The freckled man shivered where he stood, and it was then he realized he was still in his boxers and t-shirt in the middle of the hallway, where everyone could see him. Marco flusteredly retreated into his dorm room before anyone spotted him to put on some real clothes.

Marco stared at the empty side of the room again while he slipped on some comfortable jeans. It made him wonder just where "Roommate B" was. There was still a day until classes started, but he kind of thought he would have been here by now.

After getting sufficiently dressed and grabbing his dorm key and wallet, Marco left the dormitory and wandered around campus to see just what he was dealing with. True to his mother’s worries, he had no idea where his classes were, and being late to his first class and having students stare at him was not something he wanted to deal with. Knowing where everything was ahead of time would save him that embarrassment.

Pulling out his schedule, he searched for the first class on the list and found it with surprising ease; HBIO101. It wasn't too far from his dorm, so if he was running a bit late sometimes he could still make it to class on time. The thought gave him some peace of mind.

While looking for the next building, Marco spotted two girls holding hands slowly taking a walk, one who couldn't be taller than 5’ and the other who was more than a head taller than her. The taller girl’s face had a blush displayed across her freckled cheeks, while the smaller one had long beautiful blonde hair and a smile directed at the other. Their hands were swinging slightly as they went, and Marco smiled at how cute they looked together. Glancing back down at his schedule, he continued his search for his other classes.

Marco was taking five this semester, but only had two, maybe three a day. The first one he located must have been out of sheer luck, because now he was having some trouble finding the rest. After 30 minutes and no results, he decided to give up for now. He was about to head back to his dorm when his stomach growled loudly, reminding him he hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. Fortunately while he was walking around, he had spotted a small café not too far from where he was. Turning around, Marco headed in the direction of the small shop.

Once he'd arrived, he noticed a small, adorable chalkboard with little doodles and special deals written on it. He absolutely beamed when he noticed the various puns written out in the form of their drinks. Feeling good about the place he discovered, Marco strolled into the café, a small bell chiming above his head.

“Welcome to the Little Titan Café!” a voice called out, and instead of responding he took the time to inspect the place. It had a very comforting feeling to it, with a fabric couch pushed to the corner and round tables for people to sit at. Several soft lights hung down low from the wooden ceiling, and the temperature inside was just warm enough to make his eyes droop. A beautiful glass case with an endless array of pastries was displayed in front of him, everything from breads to desserts to small cakes. And behind that, a blond boy stood with a brown apron bearing a winged symbol and his hair tied back into a loose ponytail.

Black glasses framed his rounded face, and he greeted him with very friendly expression. “Hi! Can I help you?”

Marco didn't realize he was being talked to right away, and when he found the cashier staring at him expectantly he felt a spike of nervousness in his heart. “Oh! Um…Can I have a minute?” he asked shyly. He hadn't even remotely looked at what they sold here yet. The man waved him off kindly, and he silently thanked him for his patience.

Their menu consisted of coffees and sandwiches and pastries, all of which sounded good to him. Marco decided he would play it safe with a Java Chip Frappuccino and a BLT sandwich. The cashier took his order and he went to sit at an empty table, not too far away from everyone else. The place wasn't too crowded, so finding a seat was easy enough.

The bell chimed to signal another customer entering the café, and that same voice said “Welcome to the Little Titan Café!”. Looking up at the door, he glanced at the new person who entered the place, and he had to admit he did a bit of a double take.

First of all, the guy had a scarf wrapped around his neck. Yesterday was the hottest day of the year so far, and yet he still decided to be wearing one. Second of all, this person was _extremely_ attractive. Marco took in the sharp angle of his cheeks, his defined jawline, and his squared shoulders. His eyes were half lidded, and he would think the stranger was simply bored if his thin eyebrows weren't stuck in a permanent scowl. As he stared down at his phone, and as he gave the cashier his order, his expression stayed the same. His hair was side swept and sandy brown with a dark undercut that would probably look weird on anyone else, but he pulled it off _so well_.

Marco, realizing that staring at a stranger with his jaw on the floor probably wasn't the most polite thing, shot his gaze back down to the table. He ripped into a bite of his sandwich to distract himself from his warm face, and hummed pleasantly when it was much better than he expected. He took another large bite out of it.

“What? I’m sorry, he ordered _what?”_ an angry man’s voice called out, this time different from the cashiers. Someone with mid parted brown hair and deep cerulean eyes came from behind the blond cashier and glared at the person Marco had been openly staring at earlier. “Do you want to repeat your order, sir?”

Scarf man mirrored the other’s glare and looked up from his phone, appalled that he even had to repeat himself. “If you were listening the _first_ damn time, I wouldn't have to repeat myself. I said I want a Triple Grande Sugar-Free Vanilla Hazelnut Brave Latte. Hurry it up.” He replied. Marco blinked rapidly, surprised at how much his sweet appearance didn't match his interior. Guess you really can't judge a book by its cover.

The brown haired man’s anger increased tremendously, and he slammed he hands on the counter. “Excuse me? I didn't know we were serving the _Queen of England_ today, do you seriously expect me to make that?!” He protested, his voice rising in volume. By now the entire café had gone quiet to listen to the spectacle going on at the front counter.

“Eren, stop it.” The blond scolded. He turned his attention to the angry scarf man and gave him his most apologetic look, blue doe eyes working their magic. “I’m very sorry for our employee’s outburst, sir. We’ll get started on your drink right away. We will make sure this doesn't happen again, so please take a seat and we’ll get it to you as soon as we can.”

The customer seemed satisfied with his answer, though the angry look on his face didn't ease up at all. Marco was seriously beginning to wonder if his face really was stuck like that.

After the spectacle, the café had come back to life, and the tense air that was once there had disappeared as easily at the steam from coffee. Marco went to finishing the last of his coffee and BLT, and looked up as the angry scarf man received his complicated drink.

“Here you go, _Sir._ ” Eren had said, with a smile that practically spelled murder. Scarf man gave a click of his tongue and yanked his drink from the barista before walking out of the café. The blond smacked the brunette upside the head when he left and scolded him about being kind to customers, and the barista winced and replaced the bitter look on his face with a slightly apologetic one.

With nothing else to do, the freckled man stood from his table and exited the café, but not without waving to the cashier first. To his pleasant surprise, the blond and even the barista waved back to him. He smiled to himself as he made his way back, and wondered why anyone would be rude to those two. 

Marco was pretty intimidated by the angry customer in more ways than one, and based on how he acted he secretly hoped he would never have to run into him again.

Now that he was more focused with a belly full of food and a mind full of coffee, the freckled man could continue his search for his other classes that he couldn't find earlier.

But he was still having as hard a time as he was before he went into the Little Titan Café. Eventually he caved and approached a jogger with jet black hair and pale skin.

"Hello! Uh, could you maybe tell me where these buildings are?" he asked shyly, pointing to the building number on his paper.

She silently pointed in the general direction of the elusive classroom. The beautiful girl didn’t say more than she needed to and left to continue her jog. The tall boy would have thanked her, but she was gone before he could get out a word.

And with that, he was left to locate the place with a better idea of where to look.

.

..

...

Marco was _exhausted_ by the end of the day, having done a lot of running around and been involved in several strange events. Sleeping sounded just about perfect now, and with a goal in mind he dragged his sore feet back to his dorm building. The brunette was far too tired to notice the lights on in his dorm.

Though he did pause in front of the door when he noticed there was blaring music coming from inside. Marco didn’t have any heavy music like that, let alone left any playing in the first place. _What the hell…?_

He reached for the doorknob, and before he could touch it someone else had opened it from the inside.

In front of Marco stood a man, with the same ashen hair, the same undercut, and the same scowl glued to his face as he did in the Little Titan Café.

“Scarf Man...?”

“Excuse me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for reading! please leave a comment or kudos, i really really appreciate feedback, and it helps me get motivation to write! 
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	2. The First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco meets the Scarf-man named Jean, and the first day of classes don't go so well.

“Excuse me?”

Marco stared at the thin man in his doorway, him leaning his shoulder onto it. Looking him over now that he was closer than before he saw he looked the same; scarf, scowl and all. But this time he could properly see his eye color, and _boy_ were they a beautiful one. They were practically golden, or maybe amber was a better word for it? Dark brown lined the outside of his iris, framing the color breathtakingly. Whatever color they were, they were staring straight into his own plain brown ones, making Marco feel very intiminidated and insecure. He squirmed in place, held by his gaze.

Realizing he was probably waiting for a response, Marco widened his eyes a little and looked towards his guest. “O-oh! Uh, I called you Scarf-Man because I—” he stuttered, and began to hesitate.

Should he tell him he saw what happened? Would he just play it off? Would he get angry at him?...Well, it was worth a shot.

“...I saw you at the café today, and noticed your scarf I guess?”  Marco laughed, and just barely kept himself from wincing at how creepy that sounded.

An intense glare was what he was met with, and he inwardly jumped at having such a malicious look bore its way into him. Clicking his teeth in the same way he did at the café, Scarf-Man turned his gaze to the side. “So you saw that bull-headed barista act like a complete fucking asshole about getting me my drink? God, I seriously can’t stand rude people like him.” He spat.

Marco refrained from telling him that he wasn’t being the nicest to him either.

Marco chuckled nervously and looked up at the angry man once again. “Uh, if I can ask, why are you...” he began, but it clicked into place right as the blond answered.

“I live here. I’m guessing this stuff on the top bunk and desk is yours then?” Scarf-Man inquired. That’s right, his dormmate hadn’t shown up yesterday, and he _had_ been out for a while. Of course someone would have enough time to move in while he was away.

So this guy was his new dormmate huh?

“Yeah, it is.” He confirmed.  The ashen blond boy stepped aside and let Marco into his— _their_ —room. But what he saw made Marco’s eyebrow twitch in irritation.

The floor was littered with boxes and scarves all of different patterns. How could one person own this many scarves? Is that even humanly possible? He took in the now filled space on the other side of the room, taking note of how little personal items the other seemed to have brought with him. The only noticeable additions were on his desk; a few textbooks, papers strewn on the surface, a laptop that seemed far nicer that his, and…were those water colors? He guessed he majored in some kind of art then.

Piles of clothes and hangers lay at the foot of one of the closets, a few empty cans-- _was that beer?--_ were crumpled here and there. A lone backpack was lying on the ground in the middle of it all. In short, the place was wrecked. How could someone make this much of a mess with so few things?

“Jean” a voice shouted, though it was near impossible to hear over the blasting music that continued to play in the room. Marco tilted his head in confusion, his eyebrows scrunching while trying to figure out what he had said. The other man had given a frustrated huff and walked over to turn down the music, crossing his arms after he did so. “My name’s not Scarf-Man. It’s Jean.”

Giving him a polite smile, the brunette held out his hand to shake. “I’m Marco. Marco Bodt. I moved here from Jinae.” Jean raised his eyebrows at the gesture, and after he was left hanging for a while he dropped his hand back to his side.

He cleared his throat and tried again. “What about you? Where are you from?” he tried. If he was going to get to know his roommate, he might as well start with the basics.

Jean grabbed one of the stray hangers off of the ground and spoke without turning around. “Born here, at Trost.”

And with that Jean turned the music back up again, this time at a more tolerable volume. He guessed he was a man of few words, but he couldn't help the awkwardness he felt.

The ashen blond went back to hanging up the clothes so tossed about it looked like they had been through a tornado. The scowl still didn’t seem to leave his face, Marco noticed with a furrow of his own brow. Despite Scarf-Man's stand off-ish nature, he could help wondering if something was genuinely upsetting Jean. Or maybe he was still bitter about the café this afternoon; the brunette couldn't tell.

“The hell are you looking at?” Jean demanded, and Marco jumped realizing he had been staring _again._ He cursed himself for being so rude, and looked down at the carpet, shyness overcoming his urge to make conversation with his new roommate.

“N-Nothing, sorry.” He said quietly, which consequently got drowned out by the thrumming of the bass from Jean’s speakers. Marco grabbed his laptop from his desk and brought it up to the top bunk, hiding out up there until Jean finished his organizing. His face continued to burn in embarrassment, so he smacked his face lightly to get it to cool down.

 _So much for a nice dormmate,_ Marco thought miserably. _I think he hates me already._

Several times he felt Scarf-Man's harsh stare, but he chose to ignore the holes it burned into his head.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jean had finished, the room was more or less back in its organized state, which Marco was grateful for. He noticed it was getting late, and not wanting to be tired his first day of classes, he climbed down the side of the beds and searched for some pajamas in his closet.

The music had been off for a while, so a suffocating silence filled the room. Only the sounds of Marco changing could be heard, and he just wanted to get to sleep. It was bad enough that his roommate disliked him, so he hurried and went to the side of the bed to avoid irritating him any further. Smoothly, he tossed on a loose t-shirt, and made his way up the side of their beds.

Until a hesitant voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Hey…Marco?” Jean asked carefully. He paused on his ascent to the top and peeked down at the other. It was hard to hear him clearly behind the protection of his blankets, so he strained to hear what he had to say. “Sorry for snapping at you earlier and generally being kind of a dick.” He murmured.

Marco gave a warm smile at the apology, relief filling his body and making him feel lighter. “No worries, Jean. You’ve had a rough day right? Just get some rest and relax, and maybe you’ll feel better tomorrow, okay?” he said gently. Jean nodded once in affirmation.

The brunette was extremely glad that the other wasn’t angry at him any longer. The silence that surrounded them was no longer suffocating, but rather comfortable. Finishing his climb up the bed, Marco crawled underneath his thick covers.

“Goodnight, Jean” he mumbled into his blankets, and he heard a mumbled ‘night in return. Turning onto his side Marco slipped into a deep and dreamless slumber.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Marco’s alarm had gone off early that morning, signaling him to get up and get ready for his first class of the day. Wiping the sleep from his eyes and moving with the speed of a sloth, he grabbed his phone and tapped the dismiss button. Just because he _can_ get up early fairly easily, doesn’t mean he _wants_ to. Marco groaned and sat up slowly.

Climbing down the side of the beds once again, Marco reached the ground with a loud thud. “Shoot—“, he whispered, concern lacing his tone. He bent down to see if Jean had been disturbed from his sleep at all.

A heavy snore came from the mess of blankets, and Marco let out a sigh of relief. Jean fortunately appeared to be a heavy sleeper.

Grabbing a change of clothes, the freckled student went into the bathroom and embraced his morning shower. Marco was incredibly thankful that their dorm had their own private bathroom. Shower time was thinking time, and while melting into the hot streams of water, he thought about his plans for the day and everything that had happened yesterday.

Unofficially meeting Jean yesterday was interesting to say the least. His attitude definitely left an impression on him, but his appearance left an even bigger one. From his hair that looked so purposefully messy from the pieces that slightly stuck up, to the scarf so carefully wrapped around his pale neck. The piercing color from Jean’s eyes hopped to the front of his mind, and he found himself wondering what other feelings they could hold in them. Anger was the only one he’d seen so far, and Marco found himself craving to see all of the other emotions they could show.

From the brief glance he stole when they had officially met, Jeans lips looked thin, though that may have been because they were pursed in anger. But they did look incredibly soft, and Marco found himself fantasizing about what they would feel like on his own lips, on his jaw, or caressing the pulse in his neck.

He imagined Jean whispering sweet nothings into his ear, and his face grew red as he imagined what they would look like kissing a trail on his chest and down his stomach. His breath would hitch when their warmth would brush his hip bones as his teeth nipped at them. He would be able to feel Jean’s lips slowly pull into a sly smirk, those golden amber eyes looking up and enveloping him in warmth that rivaled its color—

“SHIT SHIT _SHIT_ **_SHIT!_** ” a voice boomed from behind the bathroom door, effectively startling Marco from his daydreaming and causing shampoo to slide into his eye. He recoiled in pain, and his eye burned and stung intensely. _This is what I get for fantasizing about my_ dormmate _for god’s sake,_ He thought ashamedly.

Washing the rest of it out of his hair, Marco quickly dried off and wrapped a towel around his waist. Squinting open one eye and opening the door, he raised one eyebrow in confusion. “Uh, what’s…?” he started.

“I fucking woke up late because I forgot to set an alarm for my god damn morning class. Normally I wouldn’t have one until later but it’s different on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Seriously what the fuck was I thinking, signing up for a shitty class like this so early in the morning? I don’t even have time to shower or get coffee now, damn it!” Jean ranted to himself as he paced back and forth; shoving random supplies into his backpack and running his hands down his face. He did _not_ look happy.

Marco closed the bathroom door and finished getting dressed before leaving to find the other frantically looking for his phone. Jean didn’t notice that it was in his hand the entire time, and the mistake pulled a laugh from him.

Standing at the front door, Marco was beginning to feel merciful, so he waved to catch Jean’s attention. “It’s in your hand.” He said, still laughing a little into his own.

Jean’s cheeks turned pink from embarrassment, and he mumbled something about knowing it was there while stuffing it into his coat pocket. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he and Marco headed out the door to their first class.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The walk there was uneventful, with Marco pointing out Jean’s awful bed head while the latter scowled again and attempted to tame the beast. It didn’t work. Going their separate ways, Marco went into HBIO101 and took a seat in the middle of the classroom.

His teacher, Hanji, was extremely excitable and cheerful person. At the start of class, they told everyone that if somebody didn’t refer to them by the right pronouns on purpose, they would immediately fail them in the class. Hanji had a terrifyingly wide grin, and their eyes were covered by the gleam of their glasses when they made the claim. Supposedly they had acted on it in the past, and the for their own safety the class decided to listen to them.

Luckily, he recognized snacks chick (Sasha?) and the baldie from yesterday in his class, and had snagged a seat next to them. After their introduction was over, the professor clapped their hands once and stated that in this class they would be doing a lot of hands on activities, so it was best to prepare to do many labs. A syllabus was handed out to everyone, including a page about extra credit that was given out by doing little “experiments” for Hanji.

Time flew by as she rapidly spoke, and soon the bell rang dismissing students to their next classes. Everyone slowly shuffled around, and soon the entire room was void of students.

Moving outside, Marco took the time to look at the green leaves that clung to the trees, a few of them beginning to turn orange. Several of them were littered the ground, creating a satisfying crunch every now and then when he stepped. The grass was still green, but he knew it was only a matter of time before it browned as well. Patches of lovely blue sky could be seen through the white clouds hovering above, and the temperature was just warm enough not to be unbearable.

Overall, it was a really nice day outside, and Marco smiled warmly on his way to his second and last class of the day; English.

Several seats were already taken when he arrived, but enough were open that he could separate himself from others if he needed to. He began to make his way to one, when a familiar voice called out to him. “Hey, Marco!” it called, and when he turned around he could put a name to a face. Jean had waved him over and pointed to an empty desk to his right.

It was someone he knew! He didn’t seem much better from this morning but Marco still happily bounded over to the seat and smiled at him. Jean only acknowledged him with an upwards head tilt and an eyebrow raise, but it was way better than what he’d gotten in the past.

The very second the bell rang, the teacher up front slammed a book closed that echoed throughout the room and silenced the class. The short man had an air around him that demanded your full attention, and an icy glare that could make the toughest of people shudder in fear. He was dressed respectably, with a cravat on his neck and a neat black suit adorning his body. His raven hair was neat and split off to the side, with not a single hair out of place. His entire being oozed professionalism and all eyes were on him.

“Alright, brats, Welcome to Freshman College English. The Name’s Mr. Levi, and you will address me as such. Now, there are several rules in my classroom.” He began, turning around and taking short, leisurely strides to the whiteboard. “Rule number One. Do all of your homework. If you do not do even a single assignment I will not hesitate to hunt your ass down.”

Writing it all down as he went, he continued. “Rule number Two. No eating in my class under any circumstances. Cleaning up after you filthy beasts is the last thing I want to spend my afternoon doing. If even a _single_ morsel of it makes its way to _my_ floor, I will put you on lunch detention with no hesitation.” He emphasized that point with a slam of his whiteboard marker, startling all of the students.

During his lecture, Marco noticed Jean was doodling on a scratch piece of paper he pulled out. Some of the pieces were beautiful and included things like starry eyes with long lashes, angry clenched hands, and mouths of different expressions. Some were made of rough sketchy lines while others were given depth and shading.

But some of the others, Marco noticed as he looked closer, were silly doodles of a tiny man with an angry face and a napkin around his neck. He cautiously pointed at them to get Jean’s attention. “I like your drawings a lot, but what’s with the tiny box man with the napkin?” he whispered quietly.

Jean spared him a side glance and smirked as he answered. “’ts Mr. Levi” he said with a breathy laugh.

Marco couldn’t help but snort when the drawing’s true identity was revealed, and he covered his mouth immediately.

Unfortunately, the sound didn’t go unnoticed by the strict English teacher. Mr. Levi turned around with a glare so cold and intense it could freeze over hell. “Is there a problem, Mr.…”

“B-Bodt” he answered squeakily. “Marco Bodt.”

“Well Mr. Bodt,” he said slowly, making his way to the student’s desk. Marco visibly gulped and straightened up out of fear. “I don’t know what’s making you shit yourself over there, but perhaps you’ll allow me to introduce you to the third rule of my classroom.” Slapping the marker down hard onto his desk, Marco jumped and widened his eyes, sweat dripping from the side of his face.

“No. Talking. In my classroom.” He said loudly to make sure everyone understood him clearly. “When I am giving my lessons, I expect you to have your full attention on me at all times. Not your neighbors, and not to your stupid ass phones. If I catch you interrupting me again,” He had began, curling his lip ferally and intimidating Marco with his very presence. His eyebrows never left their scrunched, angry position atop his forehead, and he used his height to his advantage while the student was seated. “I will make sure that this class becomes a living hell for you. Do you understand me, brat?” He threatened.

“Y-yes Mr. Levi s-sir.” He stumbled nervously. Seemingly satisfied with his answer, Mr. Levi leaned back from Marco’s face and slowly walked back to the podium up front. He let out a quiet sigh of relief, and slunk down in his seat.

Jean looked over at him afterwards, his eyebrows scrunched up with concern and in apology, asking a silent “You okay?” Marco tried to lie through his teeth and nod in reassurance, but the way his smile wasn’t as bright as before and he avoided making eye contact with anyone was a dead give away to his true feelings.

Marco wasn’t one to handle getting yelled at very well, so when it did happen his mood plummeted. It was something he was embarrassed about because he was an 18 year old man who shouldn’t feel like hiding away when someone gets even slightly upset with him.

He kept to himself for the rest of the class period.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Once the bell had rung, Marco picked up his backpack and couldn’t get out of there fast enough. He weaved through the crowds and just wanted to go to his dorm and sleep for a thousand years undisturbed.

But it wasn’t going to be that easy. “Hold the fuck up for a second, Speed Racer.” That same voice from earlier was calling to him again. Marco stopped in his tracks, resulting in more than a few irritated groans from the nearby students. Jean caught up to the other fairly quickly, and without explaining himself, held out his hand.

Marco didn’t understand what he wanted, so with a look void of much emotion, he looked over his shoulder tilting his head to the side in confusion. “Huh?”

Jean huffed and continued to hold out his hand, but this time offered an explanation. “Give me your phone.”

Well that wasn’t much better. “Why do you need my phone?” Marco was extremely confused at this point, turning his entire self towards the nonsensical man.

“I need your number, but I can’t tell you why yet. Can you just hand it over?” He replied; rolling his eyes like it was the simplest answer in the world. Marco was hesitant, but he handed Jean his phone and watched him tap something onto it, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. _Cute,_ he thought absentmindedly.

Phone number successfully obtained, Jean clapped him on the shoulder a few times. “Alright, I’ve got one more class to go to today, but I’ll be back at the dorm later. Oh, and make sure you don’t leave for anywhere tonight, got it?” He said, lowering his eyes at him in a way that seemed less scary than the first time. Maybe he was just getting used to his constant sour expression?

Marco looked on his phone to find that Jean had added his number under the name "JeanyBean" and messaged himself. He guessed it was for getting Marco's number too, and wondered what kind of nickname he would receive. And with that, Jean left a very confused and very emotionally drained Marco to go find some food to feast on.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He didn’t recall making his way to the dorm, but there stood the room 104 plate on the door in front of him. Digging his keys out of his pocket, he slipped it into the lock and dragged himself into the room, closing the door behind him and kicking off his shoes to god knows where. Marco slid his heavy backpack off of his shoulders and onto his desk chair, and proceeded to lay on the nearest soft surface.

He realized what he had laid on was Jean’s bed, but Marco honestly felt like crap and didn’t feel like he could travel the distance up to his own. He sincerely hoped that his dormmate wouldn’t mind too much, and dozed off into another dreamless slumber.

.  
..  
...  
....  
.....

Marco was startled awake by the ringtone of his phone going off, and it refused to stop until he answered it. Music blared, and he fumbled around in his— _Jean’s sheets—_ until he found the source of the misery.

Sliding the green pick up button on his screen, he put the phone to the ear that wasn’t covered by a pillow. “Mmm…H’llo.” He grumbled. The noises hardly sounded like English, though the voice on the other end understood him well enough.

“Hey, it’s me. Open the damn door for me, will you?” He demanded. There was rustling on his side, which went unnoticed by the tired and drained man. Assuming it was Jean again, he let out a loud sigh and got up from his sweet sanctuary. “Hey, don’t sound so down. I’m sure you’ll feel better in a bit.” He stated confidently.

Opening the front door, Marco spoke into the phone. “Mmm, yeah? Why’s that?” He groaned, sleep still evident in his voice.

On the other side of the door was a smiling Jean, arms completely full with plastic bags, the contents of which he couldn’t see.

“Because I’m going to make sure you have a kick-ass time tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! tell me what you like or dont like about it and i'll be sure to respond  
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	3. Beer and Bonding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What did Jean plan on doing to cheer up Marco? And would it even work? Would this bring the two of them closer?

A kick-ass time? What did he mean? Just what did Jean plan on doing with him, and why did he have so many plastic bags filled with god knows what? Question after question piled into Marco’s head, but being as exhausted as he was, they left as soon as they came.

Jean nudged the dazed man aside and placed everything down onto the floor. “Thank god we live so close to the entrance, that shit is _not_ light.” He groaned. Rolling his shoulders back and rubbing at his sore forearms, Jean laid across his bed, letting a puff of air escape his nose.

Curiosity chipped away at his exhaustion, and Marco sat on the ground to inspect the contents of the bags. His eyes widened with childlike glee as he recognized junk foods of every kind, and enough sweets to make his teeth hurt just from looking. Something else rattled inside of one of the bags, and peeling away the thin plastic, Marco’s eyebrows shot to the ceiling at what he had found.

Alcohol.

To be more precise, several cases of Budweiser beer. Was Jean going to drink _all_ of this? Marco thought back to when he’d first moved in and saw the crumpled cans of the stuff on the floor. But isn’t it bad for one person to drink this much? He quietly feared for his roommate’s liver.

Sitting up, Jean glanced over to where Marco was looking over everything, his face a mix between joy and concern. “I see you’ve discovered the goods,” he commented with a smirk. Marco noticed his roommate had been smiling more recently, even if it technically wasn’t a full on grin. Regardless, it sent a flutter of happiness in his chest.

“Uh, yeah I did.” He admitted, looking from the sweets and then back to Jean. “All this food looks awesome! But why did you buy so much?” he questioned, tilting his head out of habit.

“That’s because you and I, dear Marco, are going to eat it all.” He declared, a mischievous glint appearing in his amber eyes.

“And the beer?” he worried. He already knew the answer to that.

“Every last drop Bodt. We aren’t sleeping until everything here is either in our stomachs or down the toilets.” The way he spoke left no room for argument.

Marco’s jaw dropped, and he sat there agape as realization hit him like a truck. “You want me to _drink?_ I’ve never even stolen a sip of my Dad’s beer! How do you expect me to drink all of this?” He shrieked. There was a limit to everything, and Marco was pretty sure this was pushing it a bit.

Jean crawled down from the bed, grabbing his laptop from his desk and placing it on the ground. “All good things come with practice man.” He shrugged. He can’t be serious…can he?

A thought hit the freckled boy. “Where did you even get this? Aren’t you underage? And what if we get caught?” he worried. He did _not_ want to get busted doing anything like this.

“Oh, my buddy Reiner works at a store nearby, and he buys it for me given I pay him right then and there. He’s an upperclassman here.” He answered as easily as being asked what 2+2 was. “And we won’t get caught because we’ll be careful. Relax.”

Marco still felt extremely nervous about all of it and it must’ve shown, because Jean paused whatever he was doing with his laptop to stare straight at him. “Hey, I know what I said, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to force you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, alright? If you seriously don’t drink or just don’t want to, tell me. I just thought you could use it to unwind a bit, since you were so upset in Mr. Levi’s.” he reassured.

His words brought warmth to Marco’s cheeks, and he was grateful for the consideration Jean had given. He was really indecisive on whether he should do it or not. On one hand, his mom would throw a fit if she found out he had drank anything even remotely resembling alcohol. On the other, Marco was his own person with his own interests, and he really was curious about what the hype was about it. He had no idea if it would taste good or if it would make him feel good or what, and eventually curiosity beat any morals he had been clinging to.

“No, it’s alright.” He waved off. “I mean it’d be my first time, but I wouldn’t mind if I did it with you.” Marco laughed. He supposed it wouldn’t be the end of the world if he indulged a little.

Marco had also noticed Jean’s cheeks had gone pink and he was hiding a snort and a giggle behind his hand.”What? What’s so funny?” He demanded. It’s not like he’d said anything weird or—

“Oh god _damn_ it Jean! You know I didn’t mean it like that!” he wailed, covering his tomato red face. The perverted man only laughed harder at his roommate’s visible distress, and Marco reached over to shove Jean, making him fall onto his side. The brunette shook his head and snickered, and he took the time to memorize the way Jean’s eyes crinkled at the edges and the boisterous sound of his laugh. The eyes themselves seemed to light up, and Marco found himself entranced by the beautiful golden orbs.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you swear. Congrats on not sounding like a fucking five year old,” Jean teased in between giggles, and the brunette gave him a light scowl.

Soon Jean’s laughter and Marco’s redness began to die down, leaving the room silent apart from the occasional giggle. “You’re stupid,” the brunette sighed with a content feeling all throughout him.

“Your _face_ is stupid.” the other argued, though it was a weak one at best. “So you’re really going to have some?” Jean asked eventually.

Rolling his eyes, Marco scooted over to where Jean was sitting himself back up in front of his laptop. “Yeah, I will. It’s now or never right?” he stated, and dragged the case of Budweiser closer to them. Pulling one out for himself and Jean, he opened his can with a crack and a satisfying click. The stuff smelled like batteries, and Marco hoped it didn’t taste as weird as its scent.

Jean looked over to him, confirming that the brunette was actually going through with it. “Alright, let’s drink on three. One,” he began

“Two,” Marco continued.

“Three!” he exclaimed, raising the can to his lips and taking a satisfying gulp. Jean’s face didn’t give away anything he thought about the cold drink.

Marco’s on the other hand, was a plethora of different expressions, all of them some form of repulsion and shock. He had never tasted anything so nasty in his life! He squeezed his eyes tight and clamped his mouth closed, as if it could save him from the after taste. When that proved to be pointless, he stuck his tongue out and moved his head side to side while making a sound of disgust.

_**Click.** _

The sound of a camera made Marco squint open one eye so he could find the source. A messy tuft of ashen blond peeked over his phone as Jean tapped the screen again, taking another photo of the brunette.

**_Click._ **

“What are you—!“ he cried out.

“Awww, baby’s first beer,” he cooed. Realizing that he just had his picture taken, Marco frantically reached over to destroy the evidence Jean had obtained. He thought he always looked bad in photos taken by other people, and he didn’t want those pictures circulating and finding its way to his parents. How that would even happen Marco wasn’t sure, but the fear was very real and very much there.

“Why did you take a picture of me? Delete those right now!” He commanded, and reached for the phone again.

Jean kept his cool demeanor and to the others dismay leaned out of reach. “Relax, man. These bad boys aren’t going anywhere, so just chill alright?” he replied nonchalantly. Pointing to Marco’s unfinished beer, he continued. “And just keep drinking to get rid of the taste. You get used to it after a while, y’know?”

Marco, although unhappy with the reply, slumped down and picked the cold beer back up, taking another drink. His face contorted again.

He looked at the webpage Jean had began navigating, and the familiar home screen of Netflix greeted him. Mood brightening and grogginess long forgotten Marco smiled at the sight. “Oh sweet, movies! Are we watching one?” he questioned.

“Yeah just pick one out. I’m cool with whatever you choose” Jean shrugged.

“Well, there was this one movie I’ve never seen, and people always get mad when I tell them I haven’t seen it. So…maybe we could watch that?” Marco suggested hopefully.

Dragging the mouse around, the blond nodded in agreement. “Okay, what movie is that?” he asked.

The brunette mumbled off to the side, and the other leaned in while squinting at him. “What? You’re too damn quiet I can’t hear a thing you’re trying to say. Speak louder.” He scolded.

“Monty Python and the Holy Grail, okay? I have never once in my entire life seen the movie Monty Python! Are you happy?” he loudly huffed as he turned his head sharply to the blond.

The clicking came to a stop, and the room was filled with silence.  Jean just sat there agape, staring at Marco with that intense gaze of his and making the freckled boy squirm. “You’ve…never seen…Monty Python and the Holy Grail?” Marco shook his head. “Not once?” Another shake. “But literally _everyone_ has seen it. How can you not have?” Jean shouted in disbelief.

Marco responded with a carefree shrug. “I don’t know, I just never did?” It wasn’t that the movie didn’t interest him, the chance just never arose. He knew some pieces, something about ‘tis just a flesh wound’ and ‘burn the witch’, but nothing relevant to the plot.

“I can’t believe you—no. Marco we are watching it right the fuck now and I’m not letting you go until you’ve seen every last minute.” Jean vowed, furiously typing on his keyboard and tossing the plastic bags full of snacks at Marco. He let out a squawk of surprise at the sudden barrage of sweets on him.

After pressing play and sitting back, Jean grabbed for one of the snacks in Marco’s lap. Finding a box of Hoho’s for himself, Marco happily ripped it open and grabbed one of the treats. Biting into the chocolate spongy goodness, he let out a muffled moan at the _amazing_ taste. Hoho’s were his absolute favorite, and Marco was really glad Jean decided to get some on a whim. He was _elated_.

“You ever considered joining the porn industry with those sounds?” Jean mocked, snickering behind his hand again.

“If only I got paid like that.” He said wistfully. Then while looking over at him, he proceeded to stick his chocolate covered tongue out at him, and Jean recoiled in disgust. Marco snorted in victory. Maybe the alcohol was loosening him up a bit, he wondered while taking a bigger sip of his beer to wash it all down.

Music played from Jean’s laptop, and Marco turned his attention to the credits that began to roll. It came across as a little strange that they were all at the beginning, but he quickly dismissed it.

That was, until he paid closer attention to the subtitles. “Majestic moose…?” he mumbled quietly. “A moose once bit my sister…” Marco became increasingly confused when he read the long paragraph that entailed how said sister had got bitten. The music slowed down and came to a stop as the screen apologized for the fault in subtitles. Marco laughed through his nose, and looked over at Jean. “Was that supposed to happen?” he asked.

“Yeah, just wait.” He grinned, his eyes never leaving the screen. Marco turned back as the credit names became more and more ridiculous, them still trying to talk about the moose. Eventually after many people had been sacked they just cut to a different credit rolling with strange music.

 _I’m going to like this movie;_ the freckled boy smiled, and let himself become sucked into its clutches.

\---------------------------------------------

“What? What the fuck just happened? He gets arrested by the police! That’s _it? What the hell!”_ Marco complained loudly and tossed his hands up in frustration. “The movie can’t just end like that! They were about to get the holy grail from the French guys!”

“That’s it! You just gotta accept the movie for how it is!” Jean cackled and drained the last of his beer, crushing the can. Together they had almost gone through an entire case, and were both feeling buzzed; Marco more so than the other.

“That’s fuckin’ bullshit.” He pouted, face flushed all over.

“You swear a lot when you’re drunk.” Jean teased.

Marco ignored him and took another sip of his beer. He had begun ignoring the awful taste, and drank because of how relaxed it made him feel. Jean was right; this was exactly what he needed after the stressful day he had. Marco had nearly forgotten about the events with Mr. Levi, and his happiness high crashed and burned at abruptly remembering it. Furrowing his brow and frowning, he went to grab another beer when a hand caught his wrist.

“Whoa there, might want to slow down a bit, yeah? You’ve downed like 5 in an hour and a half. I don’t want you getting _too_ sick, y’know?” Jean reasoned. He then got up, albeit a bit unsteadily, and went to get a cup of water for the both of them.

When he returned, Marco stared down at the ground between his legs, a somber mood having overtaken his carefree one. “Why do you care if I get sick?” He groaned miserably. _Why should anyone care? It’s not like he could do anything right, what with everyone getting mad at him all the damn time. He probably deserved it_ , Marco thought bitterly.

Blinking in surprise, Jean sat down with both cups of water in hand. “Because if you throw up, I’m not cleaning that shit up; it will be your sad ass that’s doing it.” He replied. Marco cringed at how close that sounded like one of Levi’s rules. Bringing his knees up to his chest, he leaned his forehead heavily on them, a sigh heaving from his chest.

Concern laced Jean’s voice. “Are you really beating yourself up that badly from getting yelled at? ‘s not your fault the man ‘s Satan in a midget suit.” He joked. It didn’t do much to lighten the sad roommate’s mood, Jean realized with a sigh of his own.

After a moment of internal discouragement, Marco heard Jean shuffling somewhere, and soon felt two long arms wrap around his curled up form. Jumping from the unexpected contact, Marco inhaled sharply and heard a sniffle come from his nose. When had he started crying? He quickly moved to wipe his nose and eyes, but the lanky arms tightened around his own, rendering him immobile. A hand soothingly rubbed small circles into his back, and a bony cheek was being pressed against the top of his head. Jean didn’t say anything for a while; just continued to give him physical reassurance. Marco sat there, unable to do anything but feel, and sniffled again.

“You don’t have to like, take all the blame for yourself you know? I mean I was the one drawing the fuckin’ doodles in the first place. So, uh, you weren’t the only one at fault here.” He stumbled.

Marco could feel the vibrations from Jean talking on the top of his head. He was trying to make him feel better, and that alone drew a shuddering breath and a sad whimper from him. The tears finally broke free of their cage and streamed silently down his face.

“Shit shit no wait I didn’t mean—see this is why I don’t—oh fuck. Are you okay? Did I say something wrong?” He panicked. Jean pulled back a little in an attempt to give him some space, but a freckled hand squeezed his arm. A silent ‘don’t go’. “Marco?” he said cautiously.

A wobbly smile met a nervous one, and Marco tried to speak but choked on the lump in his throat. He cleared it and tried again. “It’s okay, Jean. Thank you for…for everything you’ve done tonight. I’ll be alright in a bit. But for now…” his smile faltered as more tears fell down his cheeks. “Can you just, stay here?”

Marco didn’t have to say another word as Jean leaned in and squeezed him as tight as he could; resuming the soothing circles he was drawing on his back earlier. Marco let out several hitching breaths as he let everything, good and bad, wash over him. Jean’s presence was slowly but surely lulling him into a sense of security. Everything about him made his shoulders relax and his muscles loosen up. Marco wouldn’t normally cry in front of people, and he blamed the abnormality on the alcohol fuzzying up his mind.

Eventually, the tears stopped flowing, and only the occasional sniffle could be heard. Slowly uncurling his legs, Marco wiped his red eyes raw and took a final shuddering exhale.

Silence filled the room, until, “If you cry too much, all your freckles are gonna like, melt off” Jean commented.

Everything remained quiet for a few seconds until Marco absolutely lost it and started cackling. It was so loud, so boisterous, and such a flip from the mood seconds ago that Jean jumped back and landed flat on his ass. He laughed even harder, clenching his stomach and rolling onto his side. It wracked his whole body and made him light headed, and he wasn’t sure he could stop even if he wanted to. Jean worried that he may have finally lost it, until he realized those loud cackles were supposed to be words.

“That—that is the, the, _stupidest_ fuckin’ thing—that I’ve ever, heard!” he said in between giggles.

Jean scowled at him, feigning hurt. “Hey! Shut the fuck up! Now _I’m_ going to start crying now, thanks a lot Marco.” And he only laughed harder, tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“Oh god! Have mercy Jean! I-I’m going to get a, a damn s-six-pack at this rate!” Marco tried very hard to contain his giggles, but every time he thought he was done he would start right back up again.

Jean tossed his hands up in defeat and reached up for the abandoned water on the desk. “I give up. Tell me when you’re done pissing your pants.” He barked, drinking from his cup.

It took a few minutes and several attempts, but eventually his laughter had been successfully contained, and only content sighs could be heard from the freckled brunette. “You done?” Jean asked.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. My head kind of hurts though.” He complained, and the blond gave him the glass of water he’d gotten earlier. Thanking him, he chugged down the drink and felt relief sweep his whole body.

Nodding, Jean took the glass from him as soon as he was done. “You still wanna drink?” he offered, and Marco looked up and thought about it for a bit.

“Just a little more, but I definitely want to keep getting into those Hoho’s” he grinned, and reached for the plastic bags again.

“Okay but my threat of you cleaning it up if you upchuck all over the carpet still stands.” He retorted, and Marco ignored him and opted for taking another huge bite out of the sugary goodness.

\---------------------------------------------

It’s 1:39 AM, both cases of beer were empty, and Jean had turned on soft music a while ago. The bags that once held candy now held their own wrappers and boxes. Jean is draped across Marco’s lap, his hands playing with the carpet behind his head. The lanky man’s eyes had begun to droop closed, and the other wasn’t sure if he was awake anymore. Marco looked down at the sleepy boy and gazed over the straight dark eyelashes framing his sharp cheeks. Jean’s eyebrows looked the most relaxed he’d ever seen them, with the furrowed lines on his brows completely erased. Marco found himself thinking that he was really beautiful like this, with no anger lacing his facial expressions. He looked to the ceiling as his cheeks grew warmer, and not because of the alcohol.

Why was he always thinking of Jean in this way? And how could he stop?

“Hey, Marco?”

“Mmm?”

“That was a bit more than you planned on drinking.”

“Mmm.” He hummed in agreement.

The room was filled the gentle strumming of guitars and singers, and he heard the blond open his mouth and take in a deep breath.

“Marco?”

“Yeah?”

“Are we friends?”

This question threw him off for a bit, and he looked down at Jean to find him staring directly at him. Were they friends? He thought of the happiness Jean had given him, of the laughs, of the new experiences. He took in the warm, comforting gaze of the other’s eyes, not unlike the last ambers of a fire, and the serious tone he was asking him in.

Smiling sleepily at him, he gave him his answer. “Yeah, yeah we are.”

Jean grinned up at him, visibly relaxing and closing his eyes again, no intention of moving from his comfortable spot in the brunettes lap. Marco resigned himself to his fate and twisted around to pull a blanket and pillow off of Jean’s bed. He draped the blanket across the blond and shoved the other behind his head to get a little more comfortable.

Marco closed his eyes, and began to drift off into a drunken slumber.

 _Yeah, we are,_ he thought wistfully, _but what I wouldn’t give to be something more._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	4. Hangovers and Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco feels like shit, Jean takes care of him and we learn more about Jean's past

Pain.

Heavy, dreadful pain is the first thing that registered in Marco’s groggy sluggish mind. It weighed him down like an anchor, making him not want to open his eyes for fear of worsening his growing headache. It spread like a virus, squeezing at all parts of his head like a cobra’s unrelenting grip.

The second thing he registered was the loud irritating sound of an alarm going off. He fumbled his hand around for the source, when instead of the cold vibration of a phone he was met with something soft and smooth. Looking down, Marco found himself fingers deep in Jean’s ashen blond locks.

They were so different compared to how they looked. He expected them to be at least a little spiky, but they gave away easily under him. He carded his hands through the strands a few times, surprised at how abnormally warm his head was. Marco could’ve sworn he felt the lanky man relax beneath him. Thoughts of ‘Are we friends?’ replayed again in his mind, and though it provided a nice distraction from the pounding in his head, he pulled his hand away. He wanted to avoid coming across as weird.

Unfortunately, without something to distract him, Marco’s mind was dragged back into the harsh reality of his annoying phone alarm. Groaning irritably, he blindly flung his hand around until he found the retched thing hidden behind him. Jabbing the dismiss button he threw it far away from him, and a dull thud was heard a few second later. He laid his head back onto the pillow.

Slowly opening his eyes, he winced at the light that assaulted his them. God, he felt absolutely awful. Pupils slowly adjusting to the brightness, Marco looked around and took in the debris from last night. Boxes, bags, and too many crushed cans to count. He really didn’t want to get up or clean, and he groaned once again, letting out a long slow exhale.

Jean mumbled something into his leg that was _way_ too garbled to be English. “What?” Marco asked. But as he spoke, he felt the remnants of last night sitting on his tongue, and recoiled in disgust. Everything tasted of bile and chocolate; a horrible, _horrible_ combination.

Turning his head to the side, Marco felt the bony feeling of the tired man’s cheek on his leg. “’said wasn’t that your, uh, alarm for like…classes?” he slowly spoke. Classes? For what…?

_Oh!_

Marco sat up frantically looking around for his phone, and remembering what he did with it, looked quickly down at Jean. This was a very bad decision on his part, because the entire world spun violently onto its side over and over. Holding his head in his hand, his stomach churned ominously and his mouth watered. Every single part of him hurt. “What…what time is it.” He carefully asked, trying not to throw up with every word he spoke.

Digging around and finding his phone, Jean turned it on and groaned at the light. “8:02” he revealed, and flung his hand back down to the ground.

Blinking slowly, Marco sat back into the pillow and tried to stop the swimming in his head. He didn’t want feel any worse so minimal movement was best, he decided. “Class starts at 9:00. I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day.” He worried. Not only were they new classes today, but there were three of them. Yesterday he’d barely managed to tackle two.

Jean rolled over and sat up cross legged on the carpet. His hair stuck up in all directions again, and Marco bet his own brown locks were in no better condition. Wrinkle lines were all over the blonde’s cheeks from sleeping on Marco’s jeans, and he smirked a little at the sight.

“Coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.” Jean stated monotonously, and moved up to go to the bathroom.

When he’d left, Marco resumed his miserable groaning, wishing he could smack the beer out of his past self’s hands. If this is what hangovers were always like, he never wanted to drink again. But his stomach resumed its turning and clenched with sharp pains, and _Oh god._

Jean emerged from the bathroom with two cups of water and some ibuprofen when Marco made a mad dash for the toilet. Retching and sloshing echoed throughout the room and the auburn eyed man let out a pitiful sigh. Turning around, he placed the cups back onto the bathroom counter.

“First hangover huh,” Jean empathized. He received a low miserable groan in response, and Jean rubbed slow circles into his roommates back.

Turning so his cheek lay on the cold porcelain seat, Marco look straight ahead at the other. “Help. Me. Make it stop.” He whined, and his eyes crossed as he quickly leaned back to dry heave into the toilet.

The sound of water from the faucet rang in his ears, and soon a cool washcloth was placed on his sweaty forehead. Marco shuddered at the feeling and welcomed its chilling weight. Jean held it there until he was sure the freckled man grabbed it for himself. Slowly he wiped the sweat off his forehead and the residue from his mouth. Mumbling his thanks, Marco leaned his head away from the toilet and rested his back on it instead.

“Are you sure you want to go to classes today? It’s not like you’ll miss much. All that’ll happen is you’ll have a few adults throw papers at you and say rules n’ shit. You could just stay here?” Jean suggested hopefully, but Marco slowly shook his head.

“What kind of impression would I leave if I didn’t show up the first day?” he wondered aloud. As nice as not going sounded, he would probably beat himself up for it if he ditched because of his own stupid mistakes.

Humming disapprovingly, Jean looked down at the sick man. “Honestly they don’t care if you show up or get an A or an F because they get paid either way. You don’t look like you can move right now let alone sit through what, two classes?” The blond reminded him, and handed his miserable friend a glass of water and some ibuprofen. He gratefully down them both, and was especially thankful now that the bitter taste was absent from his mouth.

“Three.”

“Three classes then. Marco, you’re going to pass out in a bush or something. Just stay home.” Jean pleaded.

 _Home_. He really liked the sound of that. Letting out a slow sigh, Marco gave up his argument and looked back up at Jean with blank eyes. “Sure, okay.”

Jean visibly relaxed a bit, and held out a hand to the hung-over adult. “Can you stand?” he asked, offering his help. Marco nodded and dismissed the hand, grabbing the counter to support his body as he got up. His legs shook from his body working too hard trying to get rid of everything in his system. Looping his arm around Jean’s shoulder, Marco was carefully led to the bunk beds.

He tried to separate to climb up onto his own bed, but Jean was having none of it and lightly pushed him down onto his own. Under any other circumstances, Marco would have been particularly flustered and delighted at the turn of events, but all he wanted to do was sleep for an eternity.

“No. There’s no way in hell you’re shimmying your ass up when you’re this hung over. Just sleep in my bed.” He ordered, and Marco was in no shape to argue. Relaxing into the messy and cold covers, he lied down and felt the rhythmic throbbing of his headache.

His tired eyes began to droop, and right as he drifted into a light snooze he was awoken by the front door opening and closing.

 _Wonder where he’s going_ , he thought before being pulled back into sleeps’ comforting clutches.

.

..

...

Awoken by the sound of keys unlocking a door, Marco opened his eyes and turned his head to the side. He couldn’t have been out for more than 20 minutes, because he still felt as shitty as before.

The warm smell of coffee wafted through the room, and he sat up a little at the inviting scent. “Brought you something,” Jean commented, handing him a cup of Little Titan Café’s coffee. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I just got what I usually get.”

Sitting up all the way, Marco took the drink and gave the blond a dopey lopsided smile, happiness making his body hum contentedly. Opening the plastic lid and blowing on the coffee, he watched the steam rise up and disappear. Taking a careful sip of the rejuvenating liquid, he felt its warmth hug him from the inside and felt so much more relaxed. The coffee tasted slightly more bitter than he usually took it, but regardless he was happier that Jean had gone out of his way to bring him some.

“Thank you, Jean.” he said earnestly, and he truly, truly meant it.

Jean’s cheeks turned pink at the genuine sincerity, and he turned his gaze to the side. “Yeah, no problem.” He mumbled, and shuffled over to put his laptop back on his desk.

Marco realized he should probably notify his teachers of his absence, so he pulled his own laptop over and quickly typed a few emails to tell them he would be gone. Soon enough he pushed the computer away from him again.

Taking a few more sips, he set the coffee down onto his desk and laid back into his cocoon of blankets. They all faintly smelled like Jean, and it was that combined with the quiet tapping of a keyboard that finally put him to sleep.

\---------------------------------------------

**_BANG BANG BANG._ **

A loud pounding scared Marco from his hibernation, and he sat up very quickly. Unfortunately, he had forgotten another bed resided right above him, and smacked his head _hard_ into the bars of it.

Grabbing his forehead, he groaned and hissed as the pain grew and grew in his skull. _And he had just gotten over his last headache, too_ , he thought bitterly.

**_BANG BANG BANG._ **

The sound was coming from the door, and fear crawled in his skin. Slowly getting up he tiptoed over to the door, moving to look into the peephole.

**_BANG BANG BANG._ **

“JEAN-BO! OPEN UP!” a frantic woman’s voice shouted and he winced at the loud sounds that rung throughout his eardrums. Some of the uneasiness faded from his body, because if this person was calling his friends name, they obviously weren’t a stranger. But that brought a new feeling of worry into his mind, and he opened the door for whoever was waiting for him on the other side.

A vaguely familiar blur of brown pushed its way past Marco, and he stepped back in surprise. Large brown eyes looked up at him, and the same brown pony tail adorned her head. She pressed her hands to her knees as if she had just run a marathon, and he noticed she was barefoot again. She was wearing short shorts and a spaghetti strap tank top that hugged her torso, and a tired grin was plastered on her face.

“Sasha? Why are you here and trying to break down my door?” he groaned, rubbing at the sore spot on his forehead before flinching in pain. That was definitely going to leave a bump.

“’M hiding from Connie, and his place is the only safe spot I have right now.” She panted, trying to catch her breath. So his name is Connie, huh? “Oh shit that’s right, you two live together!”

“So Jean’s told you about me?” he asked, and heard a hum in agreement from behind him. He sat back down on the bed and looked over at the bottle of ibuprofen on his desk. He swallowed a few more. Marco noticed a note had been left next to the medicine, and read it to himself.

 _Hey, went to class. I’ll be back at 4:30 ish._  
I also found your phone so here you go.  
-Jean

Unlocking his cold phone, he looked at the time. 3:01 PM. He’d been sleeping for a while, he realized, and turned back to his unexpected company.

She spoke before he could say anything. “So how’re you liking it here at Trost U so far?” Sasha chattered, plopping down on the ground and looking around at the mess. She didn’t seem to mind it, apparently.

“Uh, it’s good I think. I’m terrified of one of my teachers though…and I didn’t go to classes today to meet the others.” He recalled slowly. He hoped his professors didn’t think too badly of him for not coming.

“Let me guess. Mr. Levi?” Sasha presumed, and twirled the end of her long brown hair.

“How did you—“

“ _Everyone_ is scared shitless of that guy.” She shuddered. It made Marco feel better that he wasn’t the only one.

He shifted down next to her on the floor. “God, yeah. But besides that, things could probably be worse. And Jean isn’t too bad, y’know?”

“You’re actually tolerating him? Way to go, Freckles!” she loudly patted him on the back, and he winced again in pain. Damn headaches.

Still, Marco felt the need to defend his friend. “I mean, it wasn’t the easiest to get him to open up to me, but once he did he was actually a really caring guy. He even helped take care of my awful hangover” He justified.

Waving him off, Sasha leaned back and put all her weight on her arms. “Trust me, I know. He, Connie and I have known each other since what, 5th grade?”

“Wow really?” he commented. He was honestly surprised. Marco had no idea that the rambunctious brunette and the buzz cut man were friends with his roommate. Guess it’s a small world, huh?

“Hahah, yep! Seven years and counting!” she laughed, and hesitated before adding “The guy can be a real asshole and say or do things that make you wonder if he even likes you at all, but once you see that most of it hides his soft mushy interior,” she paused, pretending to squish something in her hands, “you see that he’s actually really awesome and a great friend when you need him.” Sasha’s grin was back in full force, but this time it held a little more fondness.

 _Jean is really lucky to have understanding friends like her and Connie,_ he thought. Marco secretly wondered if he could become one to his roommate as well. One can only hope.

Speak of the Devil, another loud rapping was heard at the door and a manlier voice called out from behind it. “Oi, Jean! You home? Help me find potato-girl, she ran off to god knows where again.”

Marco was about to get up and answer the door, but Sasha stormed passed him and yanked it open herself. “I _told_ you, Connie! My name is _not_ potato-girl! It happened _one time_ at camp, _ONE TIME_!” she wailed, one hand on the knob and one hand on her hip.

A cheeky grin was plastered on Connie’s face. “Knew I could get you out with that.” He laughed. Sasha backed away in embarrassment for having fallen for the trap, a devastated look on her face. Tilting his body to the side, the short man looked into the room and spotted Marco sitting on the floor. “Hey! It’s you!”

“It’s me,” he smiled, and waved to him once. Connie entered the room and closed the door behind him.

“How’s it going? She wasn’t bothering you was she?” he asked, and said girl’s face became even more devastated

“What! No! We were just talking about Jean and his squishy insides.” She reassured with a hurt tone.

“Yeah that doesn’t sound fucked up at _all,_ Sash.” Connie jeered, and that earned him a smack to the back of the head. “Ow!” he cried, and now it was Sasha’s turn to laugh.

Those two were moving at a million miles a minute, and it was just too much for Marco to try and keep up with right now. He got up from his spot on the carpet and flopped onto Jean’s bed. “You guys have fun hitting on each other, I’m going back to sleep.” He commented.

Both of them snickered at that, and bickered about more trivial things that Marco could honestly care less about. And in the midst of a bet about which of them would win in an arm wrestling contest, the front door jiggled as someone turned the doorknob.

“Shit, Jean’s coming back! Hide, Sasha, _hide!_ ” Connie frantically whispered, and Marco turned over to find that they had both vanished.

The door opened to reveal a rather confused Jean. He noticed the scarf he was wearing today was a cool blue color with golden tassels hanging off of it. _Looking nice as ever_ , he thought.

“I could’ve sworn I locked the door before I left…” he mumbled, and looked over at Marco. “Mornin’ Sleeping Beauty. Feeling better?”

He groaned a little in reply, deciding to play along with Sasha and Connie’s attempt at hiding. Looking back at Jean, he paled at what he saw in his arms.

Several plastic bags, the contents of which couldn’t be seen.

A fearful groan came from Marco, and the blond quirked an eyebrow at the display. Then it dawned on him, and he quickly dismissed the man’s assumptions. “Oh, calm your ass. This isn’t more beer. It’s Chinese food. Got you some too,” he offered while holding out one of the bags. This time a happy groan came from the freckled brunette, and Jean laughed through his nose.

That was, until Sasha came out of her hiding spot.

“ _FOOD!”_ she screamed, and Marco was terrified at the speed she moved to take the Chinese from the blond.

Apparently, so was Jean. “JESUS _BLOOD-SHITTING_ CHRIST!” he screamed, stumbling backwards. Sasha had failed to grab the sustenance, and she turn around with her mouth drooling, preparing for attack number two.

Unfortunately, he ended up too close to Connie’s spot, and the short man reached out from under the bed to pull _hard_ at Jean’s ankles.

“GOD—“ He began, and fell flat on his face before he could finish his cursing. A loud thump reverberated throughout the place, and cackling came from underneath and to the side of Marco. Even he let out a few giggles himself, though he felt bad for nearly giving his friend a heart attack.

“You guys are all _assholes.”_ He protested, and it only made them laugh even harder. “Why the fuck are you guys here and trying to put me in a hospital?”

Waiting for an answer he wouldn’t receive, he looked to see they both ignored his question in favor of digging through the food he dropped. Thankfully none of it spilled. Determined to put an end to their raiding, Jean quickly got up and shooed them away like a flock of birds.

“You all have _no_ chill whatsoever.” He sighed, and took the Chinese food away from them. They both looked up at him in disbelief, and Sasha looked like she was going to cry. Does she love food that much? “If I give you guys the fortune cookies, will you get the fuck out of our room?” he compromised angrily.

Sasha was more than happy to agree to the terms, but Connie would be a tougher nut to crack. “Aww, c’mon Jean-bo! You don’t want us gone _that_ bad do you? Otherwise you would’ve dumped us on the side of the road years ago!” he reasoned.

The look on Jean’s face remained as irritated and unmoving as ever, but soon enough a smile cracked through his poker face. “Shut up and just go already you idiots.” He scoffed affectionately, “And stop calling me Jean-bo!”

They both waved goodbye, and the two of them left the dorm and took their chaos along too.

“Sorry about them, Marco. I hope they didn’t make your headache worse or—“ he began to apologize, but stopped himself mid sentence.

“What?” he asked

“What did you do to your forehead? That looks fucking _painful_.” He winced, and Marco thought back to when he was first rudely awakened.

“Guess it started showing, huh? I got scared awake by banging on the door, and sat up before I remembered there was 200 pounds of mattress and metal above me. Big mistake on my part.” He remembered, scratching at the back of his head bashfully. He absently wondered how bad it actually looked and when it would start going away.

 “Yeesh doesn’t look good.” Jean added.

“I guess my good looks are ruined forever, then.” Marco moaned in false despair.

“Can’t ruin what you never had.” He jested, and Jean flinched as he got his own smack to the back of the head.

The injured brunette dug through the plastic bags and thanked his friend for the food. He hadn’t eaten anything all day because of his episode this morning, so his stomach growled when he opened the foam container and looked at the greasy food in front of him.

Digging into it with a plastic fork, he happily chewed on the chow mein and devoured the chicken. It was the first real meal he’d had all day, and he didn’t mind it one bit. The smells of soy sauce and greasy noodles and thoroughly cooked vegetables filled the air, leaving a lingering delicious smell all around. Marco was really, really happy. He had already forgotten about his forehead injury.

Chewing, he thought back to the topics he had talked about with Sasha, and looked over to Jean. He was eating in his desk chair, and seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly. Marco wanted to know more about the blond, and curiosity got the better of him. He swallowed his food and cleared his throat.

“So I hear you’ve known Connie and Sasha for a long time. How’d you guys meet?” he asked

Jean looked up at the ceiling as he thought about it for a bit, then glanced down at the brunette. “We went to the same elementary together. They moved here in like 5th grade or something and always tried talking to me.”

He hesitated before continuing. “I didn’t…get along with people very well. I was taught not to trust anyone and assume they were all after my family’s money. I had to do what I was told; sit down, stay quiet, and keep to myself…so obviously friends didn’t come easily to me.

"But then here comes these two fucking clowns that seemed determined to annoy the living shit out of me, constantly playing pranks and doing whatever it was elementary kids did. I remember Sasha had this missing tooth in the front, and Connie always had this Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack bouncing behind him.

"I thought they were just harassing me, But they just turned out to be assholes. Still are. But for the most part they turned out to want to be my friend and for the weirdest reasons. Sasha said my eyes looked like a dragon’s and because she liked dragons she was going to try to like me too. Connie just liked how spiky my hair was.

"But that was that, and since then Con and Sash stuck to me like glue.” He chuckled, nostalgia hitting him in waves. A warm distant smile replaced his usual tense features, and Marco’s heart squeezed at the beautiful sight.

After a moment, Marco decided to share some information of his own. “Elementary students are the weirdest bunch you’ll ever run into, trust me. My little sister, her name is Myriam, she just went into 4th grade this year and her friends are just the _worst_. My parents _always_ put me on babysitting duty when they went out for date night, and more often than not Myriam would have friends sleep over on those nights. They keep trying to get me to play with them, do makeovers, and get my attention but they’re all so full of energy that everything they tried made me exhausted. I don’t know how my parents ever did it by themselves.”

He then told him of the time at the pool where her friends kept pretending to drown so he would go save him, and at first he was really worried. But once he figured out what they were doing, he would just throw them back underwater and swim away. Myriam‘s favorite thing was playing Marco Polo with him, and she was so amused at how his name fit the game. She would always be laughing, her dark black curls heavy with the pool water and freckles kissing her cheeks.

“Sounds to me like your little sisters’ friends have the hots for you, Marco. Better watch out,” he mocked, and said brunette scoffed at his comment.

“Yeah, well, what about you? What are your parents like?” Marco inquired, and Jean went silent.

Looking over to see if he was still listening, he noticed that Jean was zoning out on his half empty plate of chow mein. His eyes looked completely unfocused, or as if he was staring at something far away, farther than Marco could see. The thing that caught his eye the most though, was how tightly he was gripping his fork. His hands were growing white, and he heard the hard plastic creak underneath his fingertips.

“Jean…?” he asked carefully

He blinked rapidly a few times and came back to reality. The grip on his fork loosened, but he noticed the intents it left on his hand. “Huh? Oh, sorry. Kinda spaced out there for a second. There’s nothing to tell about them.” He stated curtly, and that was that.

The subject of family was promptly dropped, and they both went back to eating their respective foods, slight tension in the air.

Marco was certain that there was a lot more than ‘nothing to tell’ when it came to Jean’s parents. But prying into something that seemed so private and off limits didn’t seem right, so he let him keep to himself just a little while longer.

\---------------------------------------------

Both of them had gone to their respective beds that night, but Marco was kept up with all sorts of thoughts about Jean.

Of his family, of his past, even of his future. _Possibly a future with him_ , he thought wistfully.

The more he thought about it, the more he thought about how nice it would be to be with Jean all the time. To do things like wake up next to him or hug him or _kiss him_ and to have that intense gaze of his aimed only at him. He remembered how soft that unruly hair of his was and clenched his hand around the imaginary locks. It had been so warm, and so soft, and so very comforting.  Jean truly was someone he felt like he could get really close to and just…exist. Hell, they had been lying on the ground at 1:30 AM drunk off their asses and Marco still felt like the most content man in the world. Those warm amber eyes would be filled with affection, adoration, and undying care. His smirk would turn into a careful smile; one that would be reserved only for his eyes.

The thought of Jean possibly wanting him the way he desperately wanted him made Marco’s heart flutter and his face burn a deep scarlet. He wanted to know more about the blond, about what made him tick and what made him sad. About what made him happy and what brought true fear to him.

Marco wanted to _know_ Jean, and he wanted Jean to know him.

He wanted Jean as more than a friend, and that realization made his heart stop for a moment.

More than a friend? Something like a best friend?

No, he knew what he had meant. He knew exactly what he wanted from the beautiful, tall, lanky, secretive, angry scarf clad man. There wasn’t any use in lying to himself.

He absolutely had a crush on Jean, and boy did he have it bad.

 _Really_ bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beautiful swear of "JESUS BLOOD-SHITTING CHRIST" was something i saw in this lovely fic And Day Was Breaking by  
> letsgetfricative. I love their story, and after reading the final chapter yesterday i just had to use it!
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	5. Crushes and Smash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco gets teased in biology, and he and Jean play games with a bunch of friends!

“Dude!” a voice whispered harshly, causing Marco to abruptly focus his vision back into reality. Connie was looking at him like he had just killed someone, and Sasha was looking pointedly at his hand. Slowly examining his surroundings he figured out it was Friday, he was in his Biology class, and he had a scalpel in one hand. But his other trickled a few small drops of crimson blood onto the table. It made a quiet sound as another drop rolled off the tip of his finger and joined the other ones.

He eventually realized he had cut himself while absentmindedly playing with the sharp tool. Only now that he noticed it did it start to sting. “Oh.”

“‘Oh’? you literally sliced open your finger and didn’t notice until I said something, and all you say is ‘oh’!?” Sasha worried. In reality it was only a small cut, no worse than one from paper, but it was bleeding more than it should and both of his friends seemed concerned nevertheless. The lesson from Hanji continued on in the background, their voice going up and down as they explained whatever the topic was.

“Marco, what’s going on? You’ve been spacing out like crazy these past few days.” Connie noted, and he couldn't find it in himself to deny it. He _had_ been spacing out a lot, but not because something was wrong. Not really.

No, his mind was constantly thinking of the ashen blond that he met several days ago. He and Jean had been getting coffee every morning before class, because Marco learned the man had the _worst_ attitude and attention span when he went without it. He absolutely refused to talk to anyone but him when his body was absent of caffeine. But it was something that slowly but surely became a routine with them; something to look forward to in the mornings. It always made him laugh when he saw the instant change in mood caffeine brought to him. It was almost like he was completely different person some days.

Nearly a week had gone by since he had his little ‘crush epiphany’, and he thought he had gotten pretty good at hiding it. But recently his eyes began to wander to Jean’s thin lips when he was trying to talk to him, and when they ate he would glance at his adam’s apple, watch it bop up and down. Everything on his mind screamed Jean, Jean, _Jean_. It refused to do anything else for him and had gotten to a point where he found it hard to focus anymore. Fortunately, no one had noticed how smitten he was with his dormmate.

Or at least he thought no one did.

“I bet he’s distracted because of a _girl_ , Sash.” Connie grinned, and leaned in to waggle his eyebrows at Marco.

“Ohoho, I think you’re right Con!” Sasha giggled, nudging the brunette with her sharp elbow.

“W-What makes you think it’s a girl I’m spaced out about?” he stammered. Marco could feel sweat collect on his face as he avoided eye contact.

“So it’s a boy then?” Connie smirked, and Marco’s eyes widened, his face turning beet red.

“Nailed it, Con!” she celebrated and high-fived him over Marco’s desk, laughing. He was astounded the teacher hadn’t scolded them for talking during their lesson.

He gave them both his best scowl, face still uncomfortably warm. “Stop it! I swear if you guys keep talking I am going to--”

“I’m going to stop you right there man. You are literally the least threatening thing on this planet.” he dismissed easily. Marco was extremely offended and personally thought he could be pretty scary. Sometimes.

“He _does_ have those ripped arms though.” Sasha noted aloud.

“Hell yeah he does. Invite me to _that_ gun show, POW POW!” he shouted while shooting fake guns at Marco’s arms. He repeatedly cursed himself for wearing a three quarter sleeve shirt _today_ of all days. “He even has The Veins.” Connie added.

“Stop it!” Marco wailed self consciously.

Sasha straightened up and aimed a feral smile at the trapped student. “ _The_ Veins?! No way! Let me see, Freckles!” she requested, and leaned over to her left to get a closer look. “Oh sweet _jesus_ you’re right.” she fawned, and poked at the protruding vessels in his forearms. Marco jerked away from her, not only because of the unwanted attention but because it kind of tickled.

Hanji, finally overhearing the student’s conversation, stopped their lesson with an excited gleam in their eye. “Ooooh! Are you three talking about muscles? I’m _so_ happy to see you so interested in the human anatomy! There’s just so many interesting things when it comes to the human body! For example, did you know that human bone is as strong as granite, in terms of supporting resistance? Compared to concrete, it is _four times greater_ in support strength! Can you believe a matchbox-size chunk of bone can support 18,000 pounds? It’s so incredible that I can hardly contain myself!! And did you also know…”

They continued to excitedly go on their spiel, spouting facts about the human body left and right. Everyone in the classroom turned around to look at the three students who caused this hell, bringing even more unwanted attention to the freckled man.

“Oh _wow._ ”

“Shit, they’re right”

“He really _is_ ripped, huh?”

“What’s your workout routine bro?

“Cuuute!”

More and more unsolicited compliments were directed towards Marco, and he slowly curled in on himself, face absolutely burning. _Why me?_ he whined to himself. He opted to stay quiet the rest of class

\---------------------------------------------

Opening the door to his dorm, Marco wearily tossed his backpack onto the floor and felt the weight of the world lifted from his shoulders. He shivered a little; the weather was getting cooler outside now that fall was slowly approaching. On days like these, Marco liked to wear his black beanie all day. Rubbing at the sore shoulder muscles, he retreated to his computer chair and listened to the whirr of it turning on.

He checked the usual websites like Facebook and Instagram, scrolling down on his news feed and seeing how people were doing. Friends from back home were going on about how weird college was for them and how hard it was to get used to. One of them even uploaded pictures of them at some party bent over laughing with a red solo cup in their hand. People behind them were dancing as hard as they could, and to him looked absolutely ridiculous.

They looked awful in the photo, but seeing them again made him smile sadly, reminding him about the people he'd left behind in Jinae. Mina, Hannah and Franz were all good friends of his, and it seemed like they were adjusting just fine without him. But, he always felt happier when he thought about the new friends he'd made at Trost U like Jean, Sasha, and Connie.

Speaking of Connie, Marco heard the several distinct pings of a Facebook notification come from his computer. A tab on his browser flashed orange, and clicking it he noticed a chat was started up in the corner of his screen.

_C: yo! sash and i were plannin on playin loads of games and drinking beer n shit_

_C: yknow fun college stuff_

_C: when shes all like “con! we should invite people and play with them too it'd be fun!”_

_C: to which I replied “oh my god hell yeah it does”_

_C: so you wanna come over or nah_

_C: you can invite jeeeeeean ;)_

Marco blushed at the last message. What was that supposed to mean? Connie was probably just being stupid, he thought as he stiffly typed out a reply.

              _M: What does Jean going have to do with anything?_

_C: idk more people you'd know???_

_M: Oh, so that's what you meant._

_M: Alright I don't mind going! I'll ask Jean when he gets home._

_C: what did you think it meant?_

_M: Nothing._

_C: bullshit but whatever you say robodt. show up at like 5:00???_

_M: Sure, sure. Bye Connie!_

_C: l8r_

Looks like he and hopefully Jean had plans later. The nickname Connie had dubbed him with was silly and kind of weird. But secretly he was really happy when he received it. Smiling warmly to himself, Marco opened a new tab, ready to lose himself to the internet until Jean got back.

.

..

...

Soon enough he heard the familiar click of the front door, and he swiveled around in his chair to look at his friend. “Hey, Jean!” he greeted with a smile.

A groan and a heavy thud led Marco to believe he had thrown his backpack to the floor just like he had earlier. Classes must’ve dragged on today for the tired roommate.

“Sounds like you’ve had quite a day, huh.” he commented, and Jean just sat in his own chair and leaned his head back. Another slow groan came from the blond, and Marco laughed a bit at his obvious exhaustion.

Today Jean was wearing a white t-shirt with a red X and a few grey symbols that he couldn’t decipher. Paired with the shirt was a pair of dark blue jeans, thick brown high topped shoes, and a watch on his right hand. To finish the outfit was his signature scarf that always adorned his neck; today it was a light brown to match his shoes. Overall, Marco thought Jean looked _very_ nice in it. But when _didn't_ he look good, in all honesty.

Remembering his conversation with Connie, the freckled man poked the other in the chest. Jean flinched and inhaled deeply and sharply at the sudden assault. He even thought he heard a small snore mixed in there somewhere. Marco began to have doubts about whether he would even want to go if he’s falling asleep in his chair already.

“So, Connie wanted to know if we wanted to head over to his place and play games with him and Sasha. I want to go...but I kind of wanted to see if you would maybe come with me too?” he asked nervously, his voice raising at the end. Why was he being so damn awkward? They were friends; of course he could ask to hang out with him. It’s not a big deal, right? But it still didn’t excuse the sweatiness of his palms.

Jean weighed his options in his head, and Marco’s eyes drifted to his neck that was still bent back over the head of the desk chair. Gulping, he looked away and tried not to obviously check out his friend. He really needed to get a hold on his impulses; he couldn’t keep ogling him forever.

“Yeah, why not? But you’ve got to be ready to get your ass kicked by yours truly.” Jean challenged.

Oh hell no. He might as well have dug his own grave right then and there. “You’re on, Kirschtein. I’ll make you _wish_ you could take that back” Marco grinned playfully. This, was going to be fun. Rest in a million pieces.

The short distance to their friend's dorm was filled with threats of kicking each others asses in the various games to come. Now that he thought about it, Marco had no idea what kind of games Connie even had. He looked like the gamer type, so he figured he would have the latest console and games, ridiculous pricing aside.

Jean knocked, or more like pounded on the door. _Room 117, huh._

"Hey, Con Man!! Let us in so we can kick your ass!!" he shouted at the door, Marco snickering in the background. He thinks ‘kicking ass’ is going to be the theme for tonight.

Quiet thumping came from the other side, but it became louder and louder until the hyper brown meatball known as Sasha answered with a harsh pull to the door.

"Hey! Glad you could make it. And you brought Jean-Bo along too! This is going to be _awesome_ " she smiled, and hopped back to let the two of them in.

The place wasn't too bad; a few food wrappers here and there, and a couple worn shirts were tossed over the large couch that sat in the middle of the room. Even a mini fridge was set up a little ways away. But what really caught his attention was the giant flat screen TV that sat on a display case filled with games. Guess he was right about him being a gamer, jeez.

Connie was sitting in front of the large TV, pulling out a PS4 and a Wii U and unwrapping a few controllers. "So it all depends on what kind of games you want to play. Are you up for kicking someone's ass 1v1? Or do you want to fight everyone at the same time?"

Jean rolled his eyes. "So youre basically asking Smash or Mortal Kombat?"

Connie pointed a finger gun at his friend and clicked his tongue. "Bingo."

"I wanna play Smash first!" Sasha chimed in.

"Smash sounds fine." Marco agreed easily. He really just wanted to fight Jean, and both games gave him exactly what he craved.

Connie gave them a thumbs up and began to set up the console. Just as he was finishing up, a new set of knocks came from the door. Marco glanced at it very confused and padded over to peek into the peephole.

All he could see was a giant perspiring nose, and Marco jumped back and yelped in surprise. “What the h--”

Baldie had apparently followed him to the door, because he immediately pulled it back with a wide grin on his face. “Hey, Bertholdt! Still as tall and sweaty as ever I see?” He teased, and the tall man smiled nervously and laughed. He was about half a head taller than Marco, and looking up at someone when talking to them was really weird to him.

The loud comedian continued his greetings as they filed into the dorm. “Reiner, unfortunately i’m going to need to see a permit for those _sick guns_ of yours. What’s going on!” he laughed, and Reiner clapped him on the shoulder as he joined in with a booming laugh of his own.

“Annie!” he tried, but the short blond just tucked her bangs behind her ear and walked straight passed him. Jean snickered at him from behind the couch and gave an exaggerated shiver to show how cold she was being. Connie just shrugged it off and went to set up a match on Smash. Marco got the feeling that she would be hard to talk to, and wondered how things would go with her. But personally the best part of all was the height difference between Bertholdt and her. It was almost comedic; there had to be at _least_ a foot between them.

Soon the familiar music of Super Smash Bros theme song resounded throughout the room, and everyone’s attention was turned to the screen. An 8-player smash was set up, and he noticed that everyone already had controllers on them. He wondered when they had gotten those.

Sensing his confusion, Jean turned and answered him. “This isn’t the first time we’ve gotten together for games y’know. We know the drill by now; bring your own controller if you want to play.”

So Jean knew Reiner, Bertholdt, and Annie before today? They didn’t seem like someone he would hang out with, but then again neither did Sasha nor Connie. “So...does that mean I can’t play?” he asked.

“Nah, you’re good. ‘s your first time so we’ve got you covered.” Connie reassured him. Then he gave a playful nudge and a small laugh. “You might not be so lucky next time though!” he warned, and Marco heeded it well. It made him strangely happy that Connie confirmed that there would even be a next time. He didn’t doubt his friends, but reassurance always had a way of making him feel happier. Marco left a mental note to scrounge up some money to buy one for then.

Everyone was sat either on the couch or the floor, and Marco sat on the latter right next to Jean. Once everyone picked their characters, the room went silent as Sasha grabbed the remote and turned up the volume to a dangerous volume.

A booming voice filled up the entire room, and everyone shouted either in excitement from playing the game or fear from the sudden loud noise.

**_3...2...1...GO!_ **

Controller in hand, the Smash game began and every man was for themselves. Power-ups were used at every opportunity, swears were tossed like hot potatoes, and the sound effects for getting knocked out of an arena was so loud Marco could have sworn it happened right next to him. The shouts from everyone else’s characters were like music to his ears as they slowly but surely lost their last life. Everything was happening at once, and he absolutely loved it.

Soon, there were only three people left alive, and at dangerously high percentage; Jean, Marco, and Annie. Jean was playing as Link, Marco as Ganondorf, and Annie as Sheik. They were all Legend of Zelda characters, he noticed. Awesome! But, he absolutely had to beat Jean.

“You’re going down, Kirschtein.”

“Not if you go down first, Bodt.”

“The sexual tension is _real!_ ” Sasha shouted from the couch, and Connie cackled at them.

They stood at opposite sides of the stage when a Smash Ball floated at the top of the screen. Both of them were ready to go in for the final kill that would determine the winner. Screams from the false audience and the real one behind them edged them on further, both of their faces scrunched in concentration. They leaned into each other and tried to push the other away from the ball so they could get it, but they only succeeded in hitting themselves farther off the course yet never falling off.

Forgetting Annie was there was the biggest mistake of their 4 stock lives. The quiet blond went in for the ball and the screen darkened as her character glowed luminously. Both of the boys gasped and struggled to jump away, but she had positioned herself _just_ right. Her giant, powerful bow skewed the both of them and sent them flying off the stage, effectively ending the game.

**_GAME._ **

The announcers' voice echoed loudly, and wild cheering was heard from the speakers along with defeated groaning from the losers.

 

**_THE WINNER IS...SHEIK._ **

A smirk so quick that Marco almost thought he imagined it appeared on Annie’s face. But she soon brushed aside her bangs and looked to the side again.

Apparently when they had died a while back, Sasha and Connie went to retrieve beer from their mini fridge because their faces were completely flushed. A case of Budweiser's rattled on the floor, and Marco gave it a suspicious glance, humming in disapproval. Well, Connie _did_ say earlier that they planned on drinking. But was there enough for all of them?

Bertholdt whipped out a few more cases of a different beer behind him for them to share, and the comedic duo whooped in gratitude. How did he hide that until now? Sneaky. But, Marco was still set on keeping the alcohol to a minimum for himself; he _really_ didn’t want another hangover as bad as last time. Grabbing one for himself and Jean, his friend hummed in appreciation and took the drink. He may have been imagining it, but he could have sworn he felt those hands linger for just a moment longer than necessary.

Once most everyone had a drink in hand, they pressed restart and got ready for another loud yet thrilling match.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By the end of the night, Everyone was more than a little buzzed, some more so than others. Several matches were played and drunken accusations of cheating were thrown about every time someone died. People fell off the stages easier, but despite that everyone was having an amazing time. Reiner laughed louder, Bertholdt shouted at the screen more, Annie smiled for longer, Sasha and Connie made horrible jokes, and Jean got clingier. He wasn’t sure the first time they drank, but now he could confirm his suspicions. Jean got cuddly when he drank, and Marco didn’t mind at all. The blond was lain across his lap and stretched backwards like a cat with his hands over his head. The freckled man rest his warm hands on the other’s stomach, and patted it from time to time.

After Smash, they all agreed that Mortal Kombat was the next choice, and voted on who should fight who. Marco had told Jean he’d never played this game before, giving the amber eyed man a false sense of security. That was hopelessly shattered when he started _completely destroying him_ in the game. Franz _may_ or may not have had a copy that he used to borrow and play all the time. Jean let out a squawk of betrayal and tried to get some hits in, but Marco was merciless. He ended him with a brutal finishing move, and Jean didn’t stop calling him a liar and a cheater, and whined about how broken his heart was. The drunken complaining made him lean his head back against the couch and laugh freely and loudly.

The rules were the winner goes against the next person they voted for. Annie, apparently, wasn’t just good at Super Smash Bro’s. She completely dominated Marco and everyone else in the end, and earned the title “Ass-Kicking Queen”.

.

..

...

The night was coming to an end, a few friends asleep on the floor or the couch. Crushed cans littered the ground, and he vowed to help clean in the morning since his hangover wouldn’t be too bad. He wasn’t wasted; just in a floaty mindless state where everything seemed funny to him. He felt like nothing was wrong with the world, and that wouldn’t be a false statement to make. He felt he could consider The Titan Trio as they liked to call them, his friends now. Acquaintance was a little too stand-offish for him, considering they _did_ get drunk and play a bunch of video games together. Maybe they could start to talk to each other more often, he thought hopefully.

Looking over at the dozing bodies around him, he smiled to himself and took in the one closest to him. Jean had ended up crawling between his legs and falling asleep while leaning back into his chest. His legs were bent towards himself and leaned slightly to the side. Marco had to spread his knees to make room for the tall blond, but he didn’t mind at all. In fact it was just the opposite. He just had to pray to whatever god or gods may be out there that he didn’t think about anything _too_ indecent while his crush was right against him. Jean didn’t seem to mind how close they were, so Marco had dared to wrap his arms around and hold him.

As expected, he didn’t stir from his nap in the slightest. Sometimes he was really grateful for what a deep sleeper Jean was.

Tonight, Marco decided, was a fantastic night. He wished he could get together like this with friends more often. He liked to think everyone else had a nice time too. Controllers were thrown all around the room, cords wrapping around some people like snakes. The TV had been off for a while, and all that he heard was the gentle snoring of everyone in the room.

Marco also decided that he would be more than okay away from Jinae. Sure, he still missed Franz, Mina, and Hannah. Of course he missed his family when they were so far away. But if tonight was anything to go by, he was certain he could make it here at Trost University. His cut from earlier didn’t even hurt anymore.

Thankful for the lack of classes the next day, Marco relaxed on the carpeted ground and fell asleep with Jean in his arms and a warm blissful buzz humming all throughout his body.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	6. Tests, Projects, and Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A test is coming up in Mr. Levi's, Jean has an art project to do, and someone makes an appearance at The Little Titan Café

Mr. Levi turned to the front of the classroom and every head snapped up in fear. He leaned forward on his podium, hands spread wide over the textbook in front of him. Students sat straighter, eyes were opened wider, and the professor had everyone’s undivided attention. He lifted his chin in silent approval.

“Alright brats, pay attention. Because this is pretty damn important. You all have your first test on vocabulary and drawing logical conclusions from sample paragraphs this Friday. Worth 100 points. And _of course_ you should all remember from my syllabus that tests are worth 80% of your grade in my class.” The students held in their groans of disapproval, but just barely so. He scanned the large classroom and continued with his small speech. “I will give you this week in class to prepare for it.”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief and slumped back into their chairs, thankful for the time Mr. Levi was giving them to study. A few of them even high-fived their neighbors with tears in their eyes.

“ _But_ ,” He started up again, a paralyzing glare stopping everyone's celebration in their tracks. “If you do not use the time I’m going to give you _wisely_ , I can assure you your grade on this test _will_ go to shit. You got that?” he threatened.

“Yes, Professor.” Everyone including Marco replied in monotonous unison. The short yet sharply dressed teacher gave a curt nod in approval before going to sit at his desk and type away. That was the classes’ cue to finally relax, and several students got out their notes from the last few weeks to study.

Marco turned to his side to look at Jean, and the lanky man gave him a long disapproving groan. He still didn’t look like had enough caffeine this morning if the bags under his eyes and angry face were anything to go by. He gave him a sympathetic smile and dug through his backpack for the long list of vocabulary he accumulated over the last few weeks.

A scoff got his attention, and he turned back to the source. “What a nerd, studying when the test isn’t until like 4 days from now.” Jean disapproved and clicked his tongue at the freckled brunette. He just rolled his eyes at the procrastinator.

“Unlike _some_ people, I don’t want my ass handed to me by Mr. Levi.” he scolded. When he didn't receive a reply he thought his friend listened to him and actually started to study. He had gotten out a few lined pieces of paper, and the familiar scratches from the pencils were like music to his ears. He was a little shocked to say the least, so he leaned over to see what he was writing down.

What he saw wasn't what he expected. Heads were littered all over the paper, and though they had mid parted hair like the first doodles he saw of professor Levi, this time there was an army of spots on their faces. He watched him draw a halo and round, fluffy wings on the tiny figures, and they all had a wide variety of emotions on their faces varying from happy to scowling to cross eyed. Marco also noticed that he was making the faces of his drawings as he made them. _Dork_.

But, of course he wasn’t working. It was stupid to think he would actually heed his warning about studying for once. But just who was he drawing? Curiosity poked at him until the question involuntarily spilled from his mouth.

“Who’s that?” he asked. Jean jumped a little bit and turned to his friend again. Must’ve really been into those doodles he was making.

“Huh? Oh. They’re uh…” he trailed off, and instead of telling him he slid over the paper to the corner of his desk. Getting a closer look, he realized they all had more detail to them than he originally thought. Marco squinted at the paper in concentration. There was something familiar about these faces, and he just couldn’t put his finger on it…

Wait a second.

“Jean, are these me by any chance?” he guessed, and man in question rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“Yeah, I dunno. I was just doodling I guess? They’re not very good and it’s on lined paper so it kind of sucks. ‘s no big deal.” he tried to dismiss, but Marco wasn’t letting him off that easily.

“What? No, Jean! These are awesome! They really do look like me, honestly. You did a great job on them! Do you mind if I keep it?” he begged, eyes leaving the paper to look directly into the blond’s wide amber ones.

“Uh...I guess you can? Not sure why you’d want to keep them though.” Jean questioned, a little flustered from the unexpected praise.

Marco tilted his head like he didn’t understand why he would even ask that. “Why? Because anything you make is worth keeping.” He answered easily. Jean’s eyes widened and his cheeks became tinged with pink, and he quietly mumbled a thank you. When he realized how embarrassing what he’d just said was, Marco’s face grew red and he evaded the other’s gaze. That wasn’t weird, was it? Saying anything he made was important? Was he coming on too strong? He wasn’t trying to come onto him at all! Was he? Worries piled higher and higher in his head, seemingly endless.

Until an unexpected savior appeared. “Kirschtein. Bodt. What did I _just_ say about wasting your time?” Mr. Levi warned, and the hint of annoyance in his voice drove fear into the both of them. Gazes snapping to the teacher, they saw he hadn’t even looked up from his computer screen. Jean and Marco straightened up in their seats and apologized formally.

Once a few seconds had passed Jean shakily looked over to his freckled friend, his eyebrow and smirk twitching in disbelief. ‘How?!’ he quietly mouthed to him, and Marco shrugged with an equally shaken appearance. Letting out a nervous laugh he went to put away his friends’ drawing and try to study like he originally planned.

\---------------------------------------------

Later that night the two of them were complaining in their room about the unfair teacher. Both Jean and Marco had been splayed on the floor for hours now, gradually sipping on a few cans of beer with the empty ones crumpled on the ground. At first Marco had tried to get a bit more studying done, but after getting everything out he immediately abandoned the idea. He had time to do that in class, so what was the point in doing it now? So, consequently, all his papers were littered around, beneath, and on top of his body. Flash cards were a mere mess of letters that hardly resemble English anymore, and his folder for English was somewhere in the pile.

“He treats us like fucking soldiers!” Jean whined angrily while taking another sip of his drink.

“I _know_ right? It’s almost like he thinks our every damn movement and thought can be conveniently reprogrammed like, I dunno, a robot or something.” Marco agreed, and swirled the beer in his can. The sound of it brushing against the inside of the metal became background noise for them.

Jean sat up and frustratedly pointed his arms at Marco “Exactly! And _god_ , don’t get me started on his fuckin’ grading scales. It’s like, ‘Hey! I know you guys can show me you understand the material in other ways than tests, but let's make them worth practically your entire grade! That’s right! You could potentially _fail_ this class if you fail my tests, even if you knew what I taught you!’” he angrily mocked, and Marco laughed at his poor imitation.

“He just needs to take the stick out of his ass and relax for once in his life.” he said, and wistfully sighed to himself. “I wonder if we could have a day to just do nothing in his class.” he mused.

Jean shook his head at the thought. “Impossible. That stick has been logged up there for so long it has literally fused and become a part of his ass. He and the stick are one. Inseparable for all of eternity.” he droned monotonously with his face never changing.

Marco suddenly choked and spit out his beer, and he _laughed_ because he couldn’t _believe_ he had just said all of that with a straight face. He kept giggling and coughing and couldn't even stop if he wanted to, so he covered his mouth and squeezed his eyes shut. His whole body was limp, so every single laugh and cough made his whole body jerk. It sounded so stupid, what Jean was saying, but it was so true. There was no hope for the small angry teacher, and the stick had no hope of ever escaping his ass. He laughed even more as stupid thoughts invaded his head.

But soon another thought hit him. Where did the spit out beer end up? He took in a shaky breath while the smile was still glued to his face and looked around. His papers looked fine, the carpet looked fine, so what did it **—**

An upside-down glance at Jean gave him all the answer he needed. His face was soaked with beer; it streamed down his sharp cheekbones and pooled at the bottom of his chin. The amber eyed man’s lips were pressed together tightly and his eyes were scrunched closed. Marco felt bad, but more than that he found it fucking _hilarious_. More cackles spilled from his mouth, and his friend couldn’t help laughing through his nose either. Those thin lips loosened and curved into a relaxed smile, and the sight made his heart jump around in his chest.

Jean repeatedly wiped away the beer with the underside of his forearm and shook with silent laughter. “You’re fucking _awful_ , Marco.” he complained, but there was warmth behind his whining. Once most of it had been removed from his vision he looked at his giggling friend and shook his head. He turned his gaze back to the alcohol on him and stared at it for a while before lifting up his forearm and licking it away.

Marco’s giggling quickly died out, and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way his tongue flattened against the smooth pale skin. It curled upwards slightly when he reached his lean wrist, and Jean repeated the process a few more times unbearably slowly. Marco’s eyelids dropped down and he zoned out on the steady paths he was making. He gulped visibly as his mind began to fantasize about what else he could do with that pink, pink tongue…

“Hey, _Earth to Bodt_! What the hell are you staring at?”

Marco blinked and looked back up at Jean to find him arching one eyebrow and frowning a little bit. The freckles on his face were immediately blocked out by his reddening face and the forearm he threw over his eyes. _Shit_ , he could feel himself growing warm down there, and let out a breathy, frustrated groan. _Why? Why couldn’t he just NOT think about that for once?_

Jean pulled the arm away from his face and looked straight into his chocolate ones. Marco squirmed while being held by their intense gaze, and couldn’t find the resolve to look away. “Are you okay? Your face is _pretty_ red. Maybe you drank too much too fast?” He worried, and pressed a hand to his cheek.

Marco felt so warm he was positive he could roast marshmallows on his face. He hoped, _hoped_ Jean couldn’t feel the way his heart was beating a mile a minute, couldn’t feel how nervously his body shook, couldn’t tell how he subtly leaned into his large hand. He also hoped he didn’t look past his waist at his, erm, _growing problem._ Contrasting to his own facial temperature, his hands were rather cold and refreshing, not unlike a pianist's. Delicate, yet strong, and oddly comforting to the freckled boy.

After an eternity and a half, Jean pulled his hand away and leaned back to look for a water bottle he had stashed somewhere. Marco let out a quiet sigh of relief, and tried desperately to get his heart and his lower half to calm down. _Think of something weird, something awful. Think of a naked grandma, think of ‘nice guys’, think of Mr. Levi’s terrifying glare **—**_

Well that did the trick. Marco shuddered out of fear and for once was thankful for the tyrannical teacher.

Jean leaned back over with a cool water bottle and gave it to his friend. “We should probably stop with the beer for the night. Just drink this, yeah?” He suggested, and twisted the cap open on his own bottle. They both sipped it down, and sat or laid in relative silence. All that could be heard was the crinkling of plastic and the loud gulps from both of them.

Or at least it was, until a loud angry groan came from Jean, effectively startling Marco. He tilted his head back to look up at his dormmate scowling at his desk, clearly not happy with something.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Marco asked. He replied with a deeper scowl, and he turned his gaze back to the brunette’s with a sigh.

“Yeah, I guess. Just...remembered I have another, fuckin', thing I gotta do.” he groaned.

Marco turned over onto his stomach, papers wrinkling and rustling beneath him. “What’s that?”

Jean rolled his eyes and looked to the side. “Just this art project I was assigned a while back. We were supposed to draw something that represents what we like about Trost, but it has to kind of tell a story without using any words. We can use whatever mediums we want, so it’s not too much of a pain in the ass. But I haven’t even started mine yet.”

An art project? Marco’s interest was definitely piqued. Swinging his feet a little bit, Marco asked, “When’s it due?” The bitter look came back on his face, and he clicked his tongue in irritation. He hasn’t seen _that_ combination since he first met him at The Little Titan Café. Jean mumbled something off to the side, and the freckled man tilted his head in confusion. “Huh? I can’t hear you very well.”

“I said it’s due this Thursday okay?!” he snapped, and Marco flinched a little. He knew he only yelled at him because he was stressed, but it surprised him nonetheless. The blond held his face in his hand, and sighed again. “I have no idea what I’m going to do mine on, and it’s due this fucking Thursday.”

He furrows his brows and frowned in sympathy. Jean seemed _really_ stressed out about this project, and he wished he could help him with it. Unfortunately, Marco isn’t gifted in the arts at _all_ , from singing to playing instruments to drawing. If he tried to help him draw it the teacher would most likely faint from how awful it looked.

Maybe...he could help him come up with an idea or something? He wouldn’t have to do any actual drawing, just give him a place to start. Marco thought this was a fantastic plan, and began to think about what he could do his project on. He thought about all the things he knew about Trost, from the homey café to the large trees whose tinted leaves showed early signs of Autumn. From the rowdy children that want to make the most of their life to the elderly who want to take in what little of theirs they have left.

And Marco had found out that at night, Trost was an entirely different place. New people wandered around, their path only guided by the poorly lit street lamps and the neon signs flashing [OPEN]. Laughter was no longer restrained but echoed loudly out into the cold nights. Everyone was always in motion and hopping from one place to the next, whether that be a bar or fast food. It was as if everyone had somewhere to go, something to do, and not nearly enough time in the world to do it all. The air and the people felt younger, felt more _alive_ , and though he had only been there once when the sun went down, the impression stuck with him.

But would he even _want_ to draw Trost at night? That was something that he personally loved; he wasn’t sure if Jean felt the same way about it at all. He dismissed his idea and looked over to his friend. “Draw something you like. Something that makes you feel happy or relaxed. Do you have something like that?” he inquired

Jean gave him a surprised look and thought about it for a second. Not much time had passed before he inhaled sharply and rapidly blinked, but he shook his head soon after.

“What was that? You definitely thought of something just now.” he accused.

“What? No I didn’t that’s stupid you’ve got to be imagining things.” Jean rushed, and Marco wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“Liar! That was such an obvious lie, Jean. What were you thinking of? What do you like about Trost?” he interrogated.

Jean threw his hands in the air like he always did when he was frustrated. “Okay! Fine! You wanna know?” he shouted

Marco nodded eagerly.

“You _really_ wanna fuckin’ know what I like about Trost?”

He smiled widely and nodded again.

Jean sat down with his legs folded over each other, and just stared. Marco waited for his answer, and when he didn’t receive one he sat up and tilted his head in confusion. Looking around, he wondered what it could be. His desk? His beer? His bed? He tried and tried to search for the thing Jean liked the most about Trost, but couldn’t find it for the life of him.

Turning back to his friend, he huffed and laid down on his back. “I give up! I can’t tell what you’re trying to point out, Jean.” He grumbled. But he noticed that Jean’s stare went to follow the freckled boy. _Weird_. Sitting back up, he saw the blond’s eyes followed him easily again. _Wait a minute_. He moved quickly from side to side to test his theory, and his friend’s eyes stayed on him the entire time.

Marco blushed furiously and pointed at his own face. “M-Me? I’m your favorite thing about Trost?”

Fortunately Jean looked just as flustered as Marco felt. He was rubbing the back of his neck subconsciously and his cheeks were flaming hot. “Well, _duh_. You make me feel like, really comfortable and content n shit, and also really fuckin’ happy. There’s a reason you’re my...best friend, y’know?” He hesitated on the title, almost afraid that he wasn’t allowed to call him it.

Marco smiled warmly and gave a joyful laugh. “You’re my best friend too, Jean!” he reassured, and the tension melted from his friend’s shoulders. Everything about him relaxed from his face to his body, and Marco couldn’t help himself from doing the same. He was so glad that he could make Jean feel as happy as he made him, and he knew the two of them were going to be friends for a long, long time.

The freckled brunette laid down on his back, and while still grinning looked at him from upside down. “So does that mean you want to draw me?”

“Sure, I mean I did it in class today. Could probably do it again.” he confirmed, and got up to grab several thick sheets of paper from his desk. Kicking aside the few cans of beer and dodging the heavy English textbooks, he dug around for a few pencils he could use. Once obtained, he wobbled back over to his friend and sat cross legged on the ground again. “Alright. So, I want you to pretend like I’m not here.”

“Not here. Got it.” he repeated. “Is there any kind of pose you want me to do?”

His amber eyed artist shook his head once. “Nah, just kind of do what’s most comfortable for you.”

 _Easier said than done._ Marco thought about how he would normally lay if Jean wasn’t here, and eventually opted for staying on his back while scooting one of his legs towards him. He rested his hands on his stomach, lacing his fingers together, and tried his best to relax.

But he couldn’t do it for the life of him. He was way too aware of Jean’s gaze scanning over every part of his body, and the amount of attention he was giving him was making him squirm again.

“Yo, Antsy Pantsy. Do you need to go take a piss or something?” he teased.

Marco stuck his tongue out in defiance. “Give me a break! It’s hard to stand still when you’re having every single part of yourself put to paper.”

He raised his eyebrows and gave an understanding nod. “Fair enough.” And he went right back to drawing him.

The tipsy student wondered what the finished product would look like since he only had doodles from class to go off of. Would his style changed at all? How realistic would it be? The one he made today in English had looked really nice, and he thought back to the drawing that was still stashed away in his folders somewhere. A big, goofy smile crept its way onto his face, and he found himself too content and relaxed to try to force it down. So there it remained.

Marco exhaled slowly and stared up at the ceiling to distract himself from the blond’s ever present gaze. He tried counting the lumps that stood out on it, but he couldn’t keep it up for too long before his eyes started to lose focus and blend everything together. Constant scratching came from Jean and his paper. It was sound that droned on and on in a rhythmic pattern only to be interrupted by the switch of pencil to eraser. The swish that came from wiping off the eraser shavings would startle him out his zoned out state, but he would begin to drift off just as soon as he came back. It was all really, really relaxing, and soon he gave up trying to stay conscious. A little rest couldn’t hurt…

.

..

...

“Alright Marco. Nap time’s over.” was the gentle awakening he got from Jean. Marco inhaled deeply and slowly moved his arms over his head to stretch. He flexed all of his stiff muscles, and let out a relieved moan at how great it felt. Stretching felt _so damn good_ , and he took his sweet time getting the kinks out of his neck from laying on the floor. Forgotten papers crinkled beneath him, and he hoped that none of them were too important.

Jean rolled his eyes. “You big sloth. If you don’t hurry and sit up I’m never showing you the drawing. Ever.”

Said sloth let out a sleepy chuckle, though it came out a little hoarsely. Rolling over onto his stomach, he ignored the way his shirt rode up on his back. “But _Jeeeean._ _I’m so_ _comfyyyy_.” He whined. He could get up if he really needed to, but Marco wanted to tease him a bit.

The response was a little delayed, but it still came. “Get your lazy ass up or I’ll make you get up.”

Make him? He wondered just how he planned on forcing him to move. “Yeah? And how d’you plan on doin’ that?” he asked playfully.

Jean gave an evil grin while lifting his hands up threateningly, his fingers grabbing at the empty air. “I will tickle you until you beg for mercy, that’s fuckin’ how.”

 _Oh hell no_. That threat sobered him up pretty quick, and he sat up quickly with a look of genuine fear. Marco absolutely _hated_ being tickled, because he was really ticklish. And most of the time the unsuspecting tickler went home with about five new bruises from his flailing limbs. It was never fun for either party, so Marco decided to listen to Jean and sit up like he was asked to.

Jean blinked in surprise. “Wow, I guess that worked.” he stated. The tired friend grumbled and shuffled closer to him while shielding his stomach from any potential attacks. He was still on high alert, because Jean could turn on him at any given moment. Giving another roll of his eyes, he attempted to reassure him. “Calm down, I won't tickle you, okay? Just look at the picture already.” A thick piece of paper was handed to Marco, and removed his hands from his stomach to hold it.

Marco’s eyes widened considerably and his jaw may have dropped an inch or two. His eyes were glued to the drawing—no, the piece of _art—_ in front of him.

Jean's art style was _really_ realistic when he tried hard. In the drawing, his hands were folded over his stomach just like he had been earlier, and the papers that surrounded him were the same too. They were all crumpled underneath him, discarded and clearly not being studied. He even copied the beer cans that they had emptied throughout the night. Though this was just the background, and was nothing compared to the center of attention.

The drawing of Marco himself took his breath away. There were tufts of dark hair splayed around in all directions, looking unruly yet still keeping his signature mid-part. The white t-shirt and sweatpants with the school’s name printed down one leg matched the ones he wore. Strong arms peeked out from beneath the short sleeves, and his toes were curled only slightly. The shading and wrinkles in the clothes were spot on to him, and if he didn’t know any better he would have guessed he traced the whole thing from a photo.

But the freckles. Oh, the freckles.

They were absolutely _everywhere_ , from dusting his cheeks to dancing across his forearms. He had even managed to capture the four freckles that made a diamond on his neck. Every single one of his spots seemed to be accounted for. Not a single one left behind. It almost seemed like they were all carefully mapped out, as if Jean had made sure to get every freckle and sunspot in the right spot. Did he really have _this_ many of them? He wondered if Jean had enough time to count them all.

His face didn’t have one trace of tension in it. Instead, his eyebrows were relaxed, still thick and dark as usual. Dark eyelashes were brushing his cheeks only slightly, but they looked unbelievably long. The straight lashes framed the dark and light freckles that decorated his cheeks. A warm smile pulled his rounded lips back, and slight dimples were forming just after the corner of his smile. His dimples were always something he was self-conscious of, but in this drawing they almost looked...beautiful.

In fact, all of him looked beautiful. He hadn’t really thought of himself as attractive before; just an average guy in a world full of more than average people. But this was painting himself in a whole different light. Did other people see him like this? Did _Jean_ see him like this?

“Uh...Listen, if it looks that bad, just tell me. Don’t just sit there while I piss myself over what you think of it.” Jean joked, but the restlessness in his hands gave away his true worries.

“...Holy shit.” was the eloquent response he put together.

“Okay, that’s not much better. Is it a good holy shit or a bad one?”

“I—Oh my god. _Jean_ ”

“What? Spit it out already!”

“I...look good. Like, really good. Like, attractive? And everything is just— and the papers— and the freckles. Do I really have this many freckles?” he stammered. His mind was all over the place, and Marco was practically tripping over his tongue. How did he form thoughts again?

Jean snorted and barked out a few laughs. “Seriously? That’s the first thing you can think of to say?” he laughed, and covered his mouth to hide his relief.

Marco flushed from embarrassment, and pushed his best friend over. “Well _excuse_ me, princess! It’s not every day I get to have myself drawn, let alone it be done as flawlessly as you did! Let me be in awe for a bit!” he shouted, though he joined in on the laughter too.

“So you think I’ll at least get a B on it?” he hoped, and Marco gave him an incredulous stare.

“Jean, are you serious? You’re going to get an A+ and be featured in a damn art magazine. This is way better than a B.” he reassured.

The blond looked down at his art critically for a bit with a dissatisfied hum. “Mmm, I don’t know. I can see a few things that need to be fixed, and I have to clean it up a bit. There’s some parts on here that could be done better.” He analyzed.

He sure was being harsh on his project. Marco personally couldn’t see anything wrong with it, but then again he didn’t have the eye of an artist. It doesn’t matter though. “I’m sure you’ll do okay. Honest. Just turn it in with confidence, alright? And if your teacher doesn’t like it you can give her the bird and give the drawing to me instead. You’ll be guaranteed an A from me!” he cheered, and saw a warm smile creep onto Jean’s face. It made his heart do somersaults in his chest over and over again every time he saw it.

“Thanks, Marco.”

“No problem!”

Jean looked over at the abandoned papers and textbooks. “Y’know, we didn’t get any studying for Mr. Levi’s done.”

“We’ll have class time on Wednesday, right?” Marco reminded him.

“Quite the procrastinator, are you?”

“No, you’re just contagious. Like a nasty virus.”  
  
“Hey!”

\---------------------------------------------

That Friday, they walked out of Mr. Levi’s classroom feeling confident about their test. Wednesday had proven to be a lot more productive than Monday was, and they ended up studying a lot together.

Celebratory drinks at The Little Titan Café were required after all the hard work they did. They felt they absolutely deserved it. So the two of them walked together to the small building, making idle chat along the way about whatever came to mind.

The small bell chimed to alert the employees of an approaching customer. Marco saw the familiar blond cashier at the counter and waved to him. “Hey Armin!” he called.

Seeing the two of them entering the café, he greeted them as well. “Hey Marco! Hey Jean! Can I assume it’s the usual this time?”

“Yep, but add a BLT sandwich and...what do you want to eat, Jean? I’ll pay.” Marco offered while fishing out his wallet from his jeans.

Jean shrugged loosely. “I don't care, just pick something for me.”

He chose a sweet cinnamon bun, and tossed a few dollars down. Swiftly, Armin plucked out the treat with tongs and slid it into a paper bag, handing it to the regular customer. Smiling like he knew a secret, he handed Marco the sticky bun. Confused, he stared at the cashier for a bit. "What was that for?"

Looking up at nothing in particular, feigning innocence, the small blond's smile widened. "What was what for?" he questioned in a sing-song voice. 

"Oh, uh, nothing I guess?" Marco still didn't understand why Armin smiled at him like that, but he wasn't about to push it any further.

Armin told them to wait while their drinks were made, and that they did. He could tell Eren was working that day from the loud groan that came from the coffee machines, and Jean snickered at his obvious displeasure. Marco sat down at a table facing the door. Soon enough their names were called, and Jean went up to get their drinks from the counter.

He should have known that would be a bad idea though. Not even a few seconds later did he hear their usual banter about Jean being a ‘Horse Face’ and Eren a ‘Reckless Bastard’. Sometimes he figured they were just teasing each other in an aggressive friend type way. But other times like today he thought they genuinely hated one another.

Before it could get too out of hand, he called out to his best friend. “Hey, Jean! Stop fighting with Eren and get over here!”

Jean turned to him and sighed before making his way back to the table. The bright eyed barista smirked and made a sound to imitate whip crack. He turned around and scowled, angry that he was unable to flip him off with hands full of drinks. When he arrived Marco quirked one eyebrow, silently asking what all that was about. He just shook his head in dismissal.

The drinks at this little place were _amazing_ , and Marco was really grateful that he stumbled upon it a few weeks ago. The chilly coffee danced down his throat, and he relished how cold it felt all the way down. It contrasted the warm comforting taste of the toasted BLT that he ordered, the salt from the bacon making him melt in his seat. This was definitely the best place to order some quick food for sure.

A chime alerted everyone in the café of a new customer, and both Jean and Marco looked to see who came in. Turns out it was the girl who helped him find the building to his classes at the beginning of the year. He didn’t notice before, but he saw she was actually really pretty, with long shining black hair and dark eyes. He never got her name, but who would’ve thought he would see her again?

Turning his gaze back to Jean, he smiled and started to make idle conversation with him.

Until he noticed that he was still staring at her, mouth agape.

Jean’s eyes were wide open and his face darkened to a shade of red he’d never seen him make before. He sat so still he wondered if he was still alive. Marco’s heart twitched once and he waved his hand at him to try to get his attention. “Uh, Jean?”

His eyes were still glued on the girl when he finally drawled out a question. “Who... _is_ that.”

_Why was he still looking?_

“Not sure. Someone from school?” he said.

Jean finally looked at Marco while smiling, but the reason made his heart tug painfully. “Do you think I have a chance with her?”

_Yes, of course you have a chance with her. You have a chance with anyone if you try hard enough. You’re too attractive for people not want one with you. But I don’t want you to go after her. I want you to look at me like that, not some nameless girl who just walked in. But why should you look at me like that? You have no reason to. You’re just asking about someone you find attractive and want to hook up with. It doesn’t have to do with me._

Not giving away his internal monologue, he gave a slightly strained smile. “I don’t know, maybe. You could always try?”

Jean’s grin intensified at his answer, and he whipped his head back around to look at the mysterious girl again. She was the only person in line at the register and was talking with Armin familiarly, a small smile gracing her face. The blond tried to smooth down hairs that would never become tame, straightened out his clothes, and got up from his chair.

A part of him hoped he would change his mind.

_Why would he?_

When Jean got to the counter, she had switched from talking to Armin to talking to Eren. She held a brown paper sack that he didn’t notice when she first walked in. Marco tortured himself by listening in.

“Um, excuse me?” he asked nervously. His hands were probably sweaty, because he wiped them on his dark jeans several times. The mystery girl turned to him and the smile was replaced with a mastered poker face.

Jean looked even more anxious, his eyes darting from side to side, and completely tripped over his words. “I-I’ve never seen anyone s-so— I think your hair is, um, really pretty?” he complimented, though it came out as more of a question.

She blinked once, face never changing. “Thank you.” was all she said before she turned her attention back to Eren. Jean just stood there, unable to think of what to say next. She held out the paper bag to him, and the gentle smile was back on her face. “You didn’t take anything for lunch. I need to make sure you’re eating well and not getting into fights with customers again.”

The barista gave her an irritated look and nudged it away. “ _Mikasa_ , you don’t need to mother me all the time you know.” he groaned.

The girl, apparently Mikasa, pushed the bag back to him. “Just take the food, Eren.” She wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Jean decided then would be a perfect moment to jump into the conversation. “Yeah, you fucking idiot. It’s a treat when a woman as beautiful as her goes out of her way to make you something.” he shouted angrily.

Eren was preparing an angry retort of his own when Mikasa stepped in and gave Jean a glare that would rival Mr. Levi’s. What little happiness was on her face was completely washed out by anger and irritation. Jean and even Marco had even flinched at the intensity of it.

“Call my brother a fucking idiot one more time, and I will make sure your head never sits on your shoulders again. Am I clear?” she warned. Her voice stayed calm the entire time, but the look in her eyes said that she was capable of following through with her threat.

He straightened up, probably a reflex from their English teacher’s glare. “C-crystal.” he stuttered, and moved to go back to their table. He heard Eren shout about how he could take care of himself just fine, and ask why Mikasa could fight with other people and he couldn't. He didn’t listen further for her response.

Marco stared down at his food, and felt all the different emotions wash over him. He felt happy that Jean most likely didn’t stand a chance with Mikasa now that he insulted her brother. He felt jealous that Jean could look at someone else like _that_ so easily. But mostly he felt sad when he realized that it didn’t matter, and that Jean was free to look at other people as he liked. He didn’t hurt him on purpose; he couldn’t have known that him chasing after her would stab and pull at his heart. He didn’t even see him the way he saw her, and Marco had nothing to do with his dormmate’s love life.

_I probably never will._

So lost in negative thoughts, he didn’t even notice when the man in question had plopped down in the seat across from him. It wasn’t until he waved his hand in his face like he had recently done to him that he looked up at his friend.

_My Friend._

“Hey, you alright?” Jean asked, concern present in his voice.

_No. I’m not._

“Yeah, of course I am! Why do you ask?” he said, smiling as he tilted his head to the side.

_Liar. Stop lying to him. I’m trying not to drown in all these thoughts that keep dragging me under. I’m far from okay right now._

“Good.” He smiled, going back to his food and drink.

Marco’s smile faltered and fortunately or unfortunately Jean didn’t notice.

_Sometimes it’s easier to lie, though. You can’t let him know._

He took another bite of his BLT.

 

 

It tasted strangely wrong this time.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch out! This isn't the last time we'll see Mikasa...  
> Far from it, my friends
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	7. Halloween Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Halloween time, and that means Halloween parties. What will happen between the boys?

Things were a tense between the two friends for a while, at least to Marco. All because of small offhand comments about how Jean saw Mikasa in the hall, or how her hair was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; things that made Marco’s skin crawl for strange reasons. He didn’t really have a right to feel jealous about Jean’s little ‘crush’, but the ugly feeling continued to fester beneath the surface of his skin. Marco found himself chanting ‘ _It doesn’t have to do with me_ ’ in his head whenever he heard mentioned her, just to keep himself from slipping up and saying something he would regret. He _hated_ feeling this way.

So when Connie mentioned Reiner was throwing a Halloween party, he was eager to go. It was something to distract him, and Marco welcomed that with open arms.

“There’s gonna be lots of booze and chicks in hot costumes, if you know what I mean?” Connie suggested while poking Marco with his elbow. Sasha swatted his arm away and gave him a look that could burn him if she tried hard enough. He cried out in protest and hid behind Jean for protection.

“Don’t be such a pig! Ladies aren’t just unsuspecting sacks of meat you can play with.” Turning her attention back to the duo, her expression lost all its malice. “There’ll be food too, so I think it’d be great if you guys could come. Most everyone who’s coming are people you know, so nothing uncomfortable there.” she added.

Rubbing his wounded arm, he pitched in from behind. “Yeah! C’mon guys, come or you’re the worst friends in the world.” Connie pouted. He and Sasha both folded their hands in front of their face and started up a high pitched whine. “ _Pleeeeeeeeease?_ ”

Jean gave a half assed smile and looked over to Marco teasingly. “Hmm, I don’t know. What do you think, Marco? Wanna go?”

He pretended to seriously contemplate it for a bit, but his mind was already made up when Connie mentioned the thing in the first place. “Yeah, why not? It sounds like it could be fun.” he agreed, and their two friends cheered and high-fived in victory.

Halloween wasn’t for a few long weeks, but he was excited about it regardless. Marco felt he could use the time to relax and be surrounded by people he knew and forget all the jealousy that had piled up inside him. Not only could he get more personal time with Jean, but he might even make new friends and expand his friend circle that much more. The thought was enough to bring a warm smile to his face.

Until another one of those comments came from Jean. “I really hope Mikasa shows up. Do you think she will?”

It didn’t take a genius to see how genuinely he meant what he said. A red blush was easily visible on those sharp cheeks of his, and a giddy smile graced his lips. The very same ones he sincerely wanted to make smile in the same way that Mikasa could. A dark part of his mind reminded him that it wasn’t the same, what he and Jean had. Marco didn’t make Jean nervous with the thought of possibly showing up to a party, or jaw drop at the mere sight of him. His head insisted on reminding him of it time and time again, and he found himself clinging to that familiar phrase like his life depended on it; _It doesn’t have to do with me_.

Laughing softly at his excitement, Marco gave another smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Who knows?”

The other three had already sped off onto another topic, and Marco found himself left in the dust, unable to pick the conversation back up. He instead slid out his phone and scrolled through it to distract himself from his own echoing negative thoughts.

\----------------------------------------

A few more slow weeks and a few hundred cups of coffee later, and soon the Halloween party was just one day away. It was quiet in the room, the only sound being the constant scratching of pencils. Marco was lying on his back, feet kicked up onto the wall and hanging over the side his bed. Looking around the room, he saw Jean at his desk diligently doing his homework and felt a small swell of pride. But soon the quietness began to bother him, and he tried to start up a conversation.

“Hey.”

“Hm?” A distracted hum came from the blond.

“Halloween is tomorrow.” he announced.

Unlocking his phone and glancing at the date on the screen, his eyebrows shot up. “Oh, shit. You’re right.”

The conversation threatened to end there, and he scrambled to hold onto it for a while longer.

“So...what do you want to do? For outfits, I mean? I personally really want to do monster costumes, since those are always a classic at Halloween time, right?” he suggested hopefully.

Jean considered it for a moment, but soon waved off the idea. “Nah, I don't want to look like I tried too hard.”

The freckled man rolled his eyes at that. “Hipster.” he snickered, and laughed even harder as he evaded a deadly pencil That had been thrown at him. “Hey! You could poke my eye out with that you know! Then what would I do?”

He snorted and looked over to his best friend. “You could be a pirate for Halloween. Always hunting for that Booty.”

It was Marco’s turn to attack him by throwing a stray pillow at the side of his head. Jean didn’t possess his reflexes when it came to dodging, so it hit him head-on. He inwardly applauded himself for hitting his target.

“Then what are _you_ going to do?” he questioned. “Just what costume could be worthy of ‘The Great Jean Kirschtein’?” Heavy sarcasm was implied on the Great.

He didn’t answer him at first, just leaned back slowly in his chair and stared into empty space. Marco was about to toss another pillow at him to bring him back to earth when he finally turned his intense gaze to him and grinned widely. He looked like he was going to answer, though no sound was coming out. He slowly closed his mouth, and seemed like he was suddenly a thousand miles away instead of a few feet. They didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at each other, the sound of Jean’s computer whirring in the background. His friend’s smile slowly faded, until it was a mere ghost compared to what it was in the beginning. An inaudible sigh came from Jean, dimming those amber eyes he loved for a heart-wrenching moment. Concern crept uneasily throughout his body, and he waved his arm to get his attention. It seemed to snap him out of his daze, whatever it was, and the mask was slapped back into place.

“Sorry, zoned out for a bit. Anyways, the costume. It’s a secret.” he finally revealed.

“So you don’t know what you’re going to do for a costume.”

Jean was clearly offended, and gave him a teasing glare. “What! Of fucking course I do! Just you wait, you’re going to laugh your ass off when you see it.”

“ _If_ I see it” he mumbled.

Apparently he wasn’t quiet enough, if the pencil hitting his face was a hint. “You will! Mark my words, Bodt.”

\----------------------------------------

It was Saturday evening, and Marco stood in front of the bathroom mirror, putting on the finishing bits of makeup to complete his Halloween costume. He had decided to go as a zombie, complete with dark, sunken eyes, drawn on gashes across his face, and a general undead grayness decorated his whole body. He tore up an old shirt, splattered some fake blood on it, and put on his oldest pair of blue jeans. His freckles were faded underneath the makeup on his face, and after giving it all one final inspection, he deemed himself zombie worthy. Once he’d cleaned up after himself, he left the bathroom to see Jean’s “wonderful costume” that “couldn’t be revealed until the night of Halloween.”

What he saw made him snort, and he covered his mouth in an attempt to hide it. Unfortunately, his dormmate had heard him perfectly well and began to chew him out.

“The hell are you laughing at! This costume is perfectly acceptable!” he cried out, showing it off in its full glory.

Wiping a tear away from a carefully lined eye, he let out an airy breath. “W-well, for how secretive you were being, I was expecting something a little more...impressive!”

Jean’s costume looked no different from his usual get-up, the only difference being he was wearing a plain white t-shirt that read “ERROR 404: COSTUME NOT FOUND”. His big plan was to be an minimalist apparently, and Marco couldn’t keep himself from snickering again. He was _totally_ being a hipster whether he admitted it or not. That, or plain lazy.

Rolling his eyes and grabbing Marco’s undead hand, he dragged him out the dorm. “It’s _funny_ , and I look great. So shut up, Zombie Man, and let’s fucking go already.”

Marco squeezed his hand back and tried to swallow his pounding heart that jumped up to his throat. The outside air was cold, and he momentarily thought about going inside for a jacket. But Jean was set to go to the party, and walked alongside him while excitedly talking about who they’ll see and what they’ll do. Though it was chilly that October night to the point where he could almost see his breath, his hand continued to stay warm, sheltered by his friend’s grip. He still hadn’t let go. Not that he minded, that is.

It wasn’t hard to tell they were nearby, because the music could be heard from several blocks away. He learned that Reiner was a part of a fraternity along with Bertholdt, and they were the ones housing many, many drunk college students. Sasha had told him most everyone who was going he knew in one way or another, but there was no way he knew _all_ of these people. He concluded she only said that to get him to come.

The two of them made their way to the door, where several costumed strangers either shuffled inside or loitered around. Now that he was up close, he could feel the bass thrumming through his bones and understood why everyone had to shout just to hear each other.

And of course, the first thing Jean asked was, “Where do you think Mikasa will be?”

He considered pretending not to hear him; it wouldn’t be hard to do in here. But, he settled for a shrug instead. “Don’t know.” he shouted back.

Jean raises his eyebrows and to Marco’s surprise, grabbed his hand again. Was this going to be a common occurrence tonight? He nervously hoped so. “You’ll get separated in this crowd. Let’s look for Con and Sash.” he loudly suggested.

Marco just nodded once, and stared down at their hands as they weaved through the bodies that were pressed too closely together. Red cups were in nearly everyone’s hand, and he made a mental note to get one for himself later. Drinking was definitely on his to-do-list tonight.

Sasha and Connie were, unsurprisingly, in the kitchen where all the alcohol was. They were dressed in fairly nice costumes for a College party. The shorter of the two wore sunglasses despite being indoors, a black and red vest, and shiny black pants. He also had high black boots on his feet, arrows strapped to his back, and a makeshift bow. _Hawkeye_? Sasha had her hair tied in a way that made her hair seem shorter, and a black shiny zipped down jacket adorned her torso. Along with finger-less gloves, she had two clearly fake guns, and a belt with random things strapped to it. Tucked into her tall black boots were a pair of black leggings, and several belts hung from her thighs. _Black Widow_? He stared in awe at both of their fantastic costumes, and absently wondered how they were able to afford it all. The dressed up friends quickly noticed the two of them approaching, and smiled as they came closer.

“Hey! You guys came!” Connie loudly cheered, and smacked Jean a few times on the back. Looks like he’s had a few drinks already.

Sasha looked Marco up and down, and gave a solid thumbs up of approval. “Liking the costume!”

The zombie blushed at the compliment, and rubbed the back of his head. “Not as great as your guys’s though. It’s seriously amazing.”

“We worked on it for a while, so you’d better hope it’s amazing!” he grinned, and posed with Sasha, laughing the entire time. But a thought hit the short man suddenly, and he straightened up and grabbed a bottle of rum from behind him. “You guys need a Captain and Coke.”

A bottle of Cola was poured into two cups by “Black Widow”, and “Hawkeye” had the unfortunate duty of pouring the rum into them. Marco’s eyes widened when he didn’t stop when he expected him to, and when he took a small experimental sip, his face contorted. It was _so strong_ , much stronger than anything he’d drank before, and though drinking with Jean did help him build a tolerance, he wasn’t sure how much of this he could actually down. Looking over to his best friend, he saw that he had an equally disgusted look on his face, but he let out a satisfied sigh right after he took a drink. _How in the world…?_

“This is _really_ fuckin’ strong. You tryna get us wasted with one cup? God damn!” Jean laughed as he took another sip.

Connie laughed right alongside him, and Marco realized he’d been laughing a lot since he saw him. Must be a giggly drunk. “Needa get you guys caught up!”

Marco was going in for another sip of the rum and coke when a crowd of cheering caught all four of their attentions. What just happened? Turning their heads in the general direction of the commotion, they tried to peek through the kitchen window to see what was going on.

Sasha practically lit up with recognition. “Oh my god, they’re playing beer pong! Let’s go watch, Let's go watch!” she gasped, leaving the kitchen quickly. The other three had no choice but to follow the excited brunette.

They walked back out into the cold air, and Marco shivered involuntarily while steadily regretting not bringing a jacket. Just like Sasha said, a large fold-out table was set up outside, and a good sized crowd surrounded the four people who were playing. Another whooping started up, and Jean and Marco made their way to the table set up with red cups. People he didn’t know shouted next to him, and he couldn’t help but listen in.

“Hey, those two have been going for a long time, haven't they?”

“Yeah! I haven’t seen them lose once yet.”

“That girl’s so fucking hot though.”

“I’d hit that any day. Jesus _christ_.”

Disgusted by their comments, Marco pushed forward through the tipsy crowd to get away from them. They were absolute pigs, and it made him cringe knowing people like them existed. But now that he and Jean had made their way to the front, they could see who was playing much easier. And Marco desperately wished that he couldn’t.

It was Mikasa. She was playing beer pong alongside Eren, and from the looks of it they were just one cup away from winning. The two opponents aimed and missed their target, and it was Mikasa’s turn to make the final cup. With a well aimed toss, she dropped the ping-pong ball straight into the cup, and the surrounding groups cheered loudly once again as the losers drank the contents of it. Eren’s face looked flushed, and to his surprise so did Mikasa’s. They high-fived loudly and Eren challenged anyone else to take them on.

Jean was smiling at her the entire time. _Of course he was_. “Mikasa! Hey!” he shouted.

Miraculously, she heard him over all the noise. She gave him a small friendly wave and even threw in a gentle smile. She was much different from when they had first met, and he wondered what changed between them. Soon the happy look straightened into a poker face as she turned back to the table to find two new opponents on the other side. They drunkenly shouted about how they were going to take down the unbeatable duo, while Mikasa and Eren just smiled at their empty threats. New cups were set up and filled, and they started a new game with an excited round of cheers.

Jean slowly put his hand down and sighed dreamily. “Isn’t she great?”

Marco nodded once and looked down at his drink. Throwing all caution to the wind, he took several large gulps of it. He still cringed at the harsh taste, but he was grateful for the warm hum it brought to his body. He just wanted to get drunk, and he wanted to do it fast. Marco weaved his way back to the house, eager to get away from the strangers and from the beer pong table. Jean could follow him if he chose to, but he was most likely going to hang around Mikasa for a while longer. The thought brought back a familiar prickle of jealousy in his skin.

Walking through the back door, he instantly ran into a tall wall of muscle and meat. He stepped backwards, drink almost spilling from his cup, and Marco looked up at who he bumped into, an apology already on his tongue.

Relief swept through his body when he saw who it was “Yo, Marco! Haven’t seen you around yet! Where’s Jeany Boy?” Reiner boomed, looking over his shoulder.

 _Thank god, it was someone he knew._ “Hahah, yeah. Nice seeing you too. Uh, Jean’s probably...outside at the beer pong table.” he laughed nervously. He didn’t really want to talk about Jean right now, and Reiner must have been able to tell because the subject was dropped.

Instead, he wrapped one large arm around his neck and pulled him towards a group of people. “Hey, a bunch of us are getting ready to play Never Have I Ever. And _you’re_ gonna join in. Come on!”

Marco squawked and followed his friend, the beginnings of protest forming in his mouth. But he quickly remembered that he came to this party to relax and have fun, not to be hung up on someone who didn’t like him back. He didn’t have to hang onto Jean like a dog on a short leash, and with that thought he smiled and took a seat on the ground next to Reiner and Bertholdt. Even Annie was there, sipping on something he couldn’t identify. There were some strangers, but being by people he knew made him feel a little more at ease. Taking another drink, he prepared himself for the game ahead.

They started with the usual questions, things like “Never have I ever smoked weed” and “Never have I ever kissed on the first date.” Things most people put their hands down for. There was even a “Never have I ever been in handcuffs”, and Annie, Bertholdt, and Reiner all looked at each other before putting one of their fingers down. He seriously wondered what the story behind that one was. They all made Marco feel a little inexperienced in the field of being a college student. But soon, as was inevitable in any Never Have I Ever game, the questions got increasingly dirty.

It was Bertholdt’s to speak. “Never have I ever...watched porn with someone?” he suggested.

Snickers went around as a few fingers retreated. To his surprise, a small blond girl sitting in a lanky freckled girl’s lap put her finger down. She had dressed up as an angel, complete with a halo and small scratchy wings, and he had to say the look fit her well. He laughed at how much her answer contrasted her costume.

Reiner’s turn came up, and he knew that meant it was going to be his soon. “Never have I ever fantasized about someone at this party.”

Marco briefly considered lying and keeping his digit up, but after another sip of his drink he put his finger down. The game wouldn’t be any fun if everyone lied about what they had and hadn’t done, after all. Unfortunately, his friends had noticed the missing finger.

“Oho? What do we have here? Who’ve you been fantasizing about, Marco?” Reiner teased, elbowing him in the side a few times.

The brunette’s blush showed beneath his makeup, and he downed the rest of his drink to hide it. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Even Bertholdt was ganging up on him. “Come on. You put the finger down, now spill the beans!” he shouted. Everyone in the circle edged him on, even the people he didn’t know, and it seemed like his predicament couldn’t get any worse.

“Spill what beans?” a voice behind them asked. He recognized it to be Jean, and his eyes widened as the blush on his face increased immensely. _Of course it could get worse_. _It could always get worse._  He kept his gaze pointed straight to the floor.

Surprisingly, it was Annie who answered for him. “Marco’s fantasized about someone at this party, and he won't say who.” He had never felt such betrayal from a friend.

This piqued Jeans interest, and he could practically hear the shit-eating grin in his voice. “Ooh? Who is it Marco? Come _ooooooon_ , tell us!” he teased, and Marco's face became two shades redder. He wished the ground would just swallow him up, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

Instead, he unsteadily got up from his spot on the ground. “I’m not drunk enough for this shit.” he groaned, and everyone laughed at his disgruntled behavior. Glad to see that everyone was getting a kick out of his embarrassment. When he looked back to Jean, he noticed he wasn’t alone. He was standing right next to Mikasa, her hand on his shoulder as she whispered something in his ear. He quickened his pace as he exited the room.

Making his way to the kitchen was a difficult task, but he eventually managed to get there in one piece. No one was around to pour him a drink, so he took the liberty of doing it himself. Since the only thing he knew so far was Captain and Coke, that was what he decided to make. He tried to make it strong, and when he took a sip he knew he’d succeeded. The more alcohol, the better.

His head was swimming at this point, having downed his first drink relatively quickly. But this was what he wanted. Marco didn’t feel like socializing much anymore, so he camped out in the kitchen, with the bottles keeping him company. He noticed Jean wasn’t going to follow him, and he bitterly took another drink. He wasn't obligated to follow him. He didn’t have to stick by him all the time. He could be with _Mikasa_ instead, since she apparently made him so happy. Any other day Marco might have been surprised at how bitter he sounded, but the alcohol in his system pushed away all rational thinking, leaving only raw and hurt feeling his heart was screaming.

_Why are you hurting, though? It is that bad that he’s happy with someone other than you?  You should be excited that Jean’s found someone who can make him smile. What kind of friend are you? How pathetic._

The dark voice was back in full force, and he downed the rest of his drink alarmingly fast in an attempt to drown it out. He quickly made himself another.

_Isn’t that despicable of you? These pure, angry feeling you have towards Mikasa? What has she done to you, other than take what’s yours?_

Another gulp.

_Oh, wait. Jean isn’t yours. He **never** was. He’s his own person, with his own needs and desires that have nothing to do with you. What he wants is a strong girl with long, beautiful black hair. And you can’t blame him, can you? You're not blind; you can tell how beautiful she is. Who would want you compared to someone like her?_

“They wouldn’t.”

_That’s right. They wouldn’t. Can’t you see it has nothing to do with you?_

Marco’s eyebrows were furrowed deeply, and he felt his anger become overwhelmed by sadness.

_It never had anything to do with you, Marco._

He slowly slid the ground and laid his head on his knees, feeling the ground spin beneath him.

_Get over yourself. You’re his best friend._

He felt tears sting the edge of his eyes.

_Nothing more._

His hands shook as he held his drink tighter.

**_You’re nothing._ **

“I know.” he whispered to himself, voice trembling as he did.

A pair of footsteps made their way to the kitchen, and he froze completely. He had forgotten he was in a public area, where people were going to come around frequently. How long had he been here? His mind was racing as he thought of a way to escape the room, but it was useless. His legs were jelly beneath him, and he sat there looking like a mess on the inside and out, waiting for whoever was entering the kitchen.

Marco wasn’t sure who he was expecting to walk in, but it certainly wasn’t Connie and Sasha. They were laughing and attempting to get another drink when they noticed the undead ball that was their friend Marco at their feet.

Both of them stopped laughing immediately. “Marco?” Sasha began carefully.

“Are you...alright?” Connie finished, reaching to put a supportive on his shoulder.

He stayed silent.

“...Do you want me to go get Jean?”

He visibly flinched at the name.

“Nah, don't. I think he’s gonna pretty busy tonight, if you know what I mean. Saw him goin’ into a bedroom with Mikasa earlier.” Connie dismissed.

Marco froze. Everything seemed to freeze. Everything.

Jean was...sleeping with Mikasa?

He wasn’t surprised. It didn’t affect him at all, and he was perfectly fine.

“Shit, _Marco?_   Why are you crying?!”

He was perfectly fine.

Connie pulled his hand back like he had burned himself. “Did I say something?”

He was fine.

“Marco, tell us what’s wrong?”

He was…

No emotion showed on his face as tears streamed down his cheeks, effectively ruining his zombie makeup. His entire body shook, and he tried to focus his vision on something, _anything_ but the rapidly blurring tears. Marco tried his best to steady his trembling breathing, but it was no use. He couldn’t put a mask back up, and he slowly crumpled in on himself. He couldn't keep sadness or the pain at bay; it hurt too much. _Everything_ _hurt so much_ , and the wall he was frantically trying to keep up crashed and burned around him. He gasped for air, and pulled at the roots on his hair to keep himself together, to possibly salvage a piece of the wall. But it was too hard. Everything was too hard, and He struggled to keep it inside.

So he didn’t.

Marco got emotional when he drank, and Jean got cuddly. That much was clear when the blond was off sleeping with some girl and he was sobbing on the cold, kitchen floor. He didn’t move from his spot on the ground, didn’t know if he even could. All he could do was cry and them everything. From when he’d first met Jean, to when they’d first drank together, to when he’d realized he had feelings for him. He told them about when they had first seen Mikasa, how much it tore him up inside when he saw how infatuated Jean was with her, how much he _hated_ himself for not being able to keep it in. He was trying to be a good friend, he told himself. He was trying to be supportive. But he couldn’t watch from the side lines when someone else was fucking the person he loved. He finally admitted to someone that he was in love with Jean Kirschtein, and it was at the worst possible time.

Connie and Sasha hugged him on the ground, shushed him, and reassured him that everything would be okay. He found it extremely hard it believe, but he appreciated the effort anyways. Marco cried into their shoulders, not caring that his makeup and face paint was probably smearing all over their black costumes. He needed this right now.

It felt like an eternity went by before he was able to pull himself away from his two friends. He hiccuped every now and then, sniffling and letting out shaky breaths, but he was no longer crying. They offered to take him back to his dorm, but he declined their offer. Though he was grateful for the support they had given him, he wanted to be alone. Sasha handed him a cup of water which he chugged down, and Connie helped him stand up again. The world spun beneath him, but he regained enough of his balance to stumble his way to the front door. He didn't think to say goodbye to anyone as he left.

It had gotten colder outside, and it slapped him in the face as soon as he stepped out the front door. For the third time that night, he heavily regretted not bringing a jacket. The torn holes in his shirt weren't making him any warmer, and he wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to preserve heat.

If he was being honest with himself, he couldn’t remember the walk back. The next thing he had registered was unlocking the front door, and wanting to lay on Jean’s bed. His head was threatening to burst through his skull and he wanted nothing more than to rest on it. When he remembered where his friend was going to be that night though, his heart gave another painful tug that pulled a small whimper from his throat. He couldn’t sleep there, not tonight. It would only make it harder to let go of his feelings. Marco couldn't climb up onto his own bed, so he opted for laying on the ground, his entire body feeling heavy, numb, and _extremely_ exhausted. He didn't bother washing off what makeup was left on his face.

As he slowly drifted off into a drunken slumber, he found himself hoping tomorrow would reveal it all to be a bad dream. Maybe he would find that his feelings would completely diminish now that he knows he doesn’t have a chance with Jean. Maybe things could go back to normal between the two of them, just like when they’d first met, before things got complicated.

 

 

...Maybe if he was lucky, he wouldn’t remember anything the next morning.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO SORRY for not uploading for several weeks. I've been so busy and so sick! But school is over, and i'm here now. So, please leave a comment and tell me what you think! The next chapter will be in Jean's POV, so prepare yourselves.
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	8. Sex and Fantasies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's POV of this whole mess. How did he feel about Mikasa? And why was he thinking of Marco so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! New chapter! I had to split this chapter into 2 since it was almost 11k words long. Sorry!
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!

Her name was Mikasa Ackerman.

When Jean saw her in the Little Titan Café, the first thing that came to mind was she was absolutely _stunning._ He thought everything about her was beautiful, from her fair pale skin to that long black hair of hers that shimmered in the light. Jean had never seen her around before and felt a strong urge to talk to her. After a quick consultation with his friend he nervously went to introduce himself to the beautiful woman.

In all honesty, things could have gone a lot better if he’d just kept his mouth shut around Eren, but it was near impossible. Even on a good day talking to that fucking barista was like petting a cat backwards and expecting it not to claw your eyes out.

After their not-so-great encounter, he found himself fantasizing about the next time he could talk to her. He wanted to make up for the bad impression he left, and hoped things would work out between them. Sadly, Jean couldn’t bring himself to go and _actually_ talk to her, so he was left to his imagination.

On his way back from classes one lucky afternoon, he noticed her on the other side of the hallway. He managed to pull off a nervous smile and a small wave, but she walked right past the blond, either not noticing or not caring. Jean sighed and shoved his hand roughly into his pocket, trying to distract himself from the lack of response. His mind resorted to thinking of Marco. A small smile flickered across his lips as he thought of the dazzling grin he would’ve gotten in return if he ran into him instead of Mikasa.

 _“He_ would’ve waved back,” Jean murmured to himself.

Marco Bodt has been his best friend for almost two incredible months now. He didn’t plan on it happening; the freckled friend had just barged into his life and made himself at home. Friends weren’t something that came easy to him due to his... _different_ childhood. If he and Marco weren’t dormmates, he was sure they would never have become friends, let alone _best_ friends. Marco was nice, sympathetic, forgiving, and a lot of other shit that Jean was not. Like a puzzle piece he felt like Marco completed him, and he had no idea what he did to deserve such a person in his life.

Marco’s smiles were never forced; they always reached his eyes, and his dimples always came out to play at the same time. As he walked absentmindedly throughout campus he wondered how he could pull off such a genuine smile every time. Not that he minded though; the corners of his mouth could never stay down when Marco’s did.

Jean stopped suddenly in his tracks and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, upsetting a small handful of passing students. Why _had_ his mind automatically gone to Marco?

Now that he really thought about it, Jean’s thoughts seemed to end up about him a _lot_ lately.

His mind always had a way of circling back to Marco. No matter how obviously he was thinking of something else, there was always something that reminded him of his best friend. Drawing in class? He remembered how much Marco liked his drawings and a smile would unwillingly tug at the corner of his lips. Beer? He thought about how disgusted he had been by his first drink and would laugh quietly to himself. His mind would even go to great lengths and turn those cool, steel gray eyes of Mikasa’s into Marco’s warm and comforting chocolate brown that always made him feel safer.

Jean was sure it wasn’t normal to think about your best friend this much. Maybe it was because they had seemed to click so fast as friends, or maybe the odd level of trust between them was the cause of his rampant feelings. But what was there to do about it? Was there anything he _could_ do? Jean let out another resigned sigh and continued the long trek back to his dorm.

After finally reaching the building, he walked down the short hallway and opened the door to their dorm. Connie and Sasha were sprawled out on the ground, while Marco was sitting beside them and talking like he’d known them for years instead of months. But all eyes turned to the blond once they noticed him, and _Ah. There it was._ That heart-stuttering smile that only Marco could pull off so well.

He decided there wasn’t much he could do about him, as much as he wished there was. Jean would just have to play it off like he did everything else, and hope he got over it, whatever _it_ was, before he made things awkward for the both of them.

He cleared his throat and avoided looking the brunette in the eyes. “Hey, am I missing a party or something?”

The short man’s eyes lit up at the mention of a party. “Yeah, actually! Reiner’s throwing a huge one on Halloween. There’s gonna be lots of booze and chicks in hot costumes, if you know what I mean?” Connie suggested while poking Marco with his elbow. Sasha swatted his arm away and gave him a look that could burn him if she tried hard enough. He cried out in protest and hid behind Jean for protection…

\--------------------------------------------

The entire night, he had been bouncing between Marco and Mikasa like a ping pong ball. The times where he stuck by his freckled friend were full of drunken happiness and red cups mixed with too much alcohol. He felt comfortable and like nothing could go wrong between the two, and secretly wished these moments could last a little longer.

The ones he shared with Mikasa however were considerably more...passionate. Her costume included black leggings with a black cat shirt, all paired with high black heels and matching cat tail and cat ears. He wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol in his system or the rush of the night, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off of her when she was in the same room. They would linger for too long on her soft curves, and he was sure she could feel his burning gaze. It pleasantly surprised him when she was _actually_ reciprocating. For once she smiled back at him, looked over him just as he had, and even went out of her way to touch his shoulder when they talked. Maybe she also had too much to drink.

When _these_ moments came, he noticed Marco would always wander off somewhere else. Whether it was away from the ping pong table or away from their group of friends, wherever Mikasa was, Marco was not. He had no idea why he seemed to vanish all the time, and slowly as the night dragged on it began to sour his mood. Jean found himself trying to pay more attention to Mikasa whenever his friend would leave without a word, if only to distract himself from the angry tugging at his heart.

While watching a group of friends play ‘Never Have I Ever” Mikasa leaned up to suggest they get away from everyone for a while. He joined in on teasing his friend, and everyone had a good laugh but Marco, who complained about ‘not being drunk enough for this’. Jean noticed that before Marco left the room, he had briefly looked back at him. He tried to smile at him but once the brunette caught sight of Mikasa, his gaze shot down to the ground and he hurried out of the room. The clear avoidance from his friend brought back that angry tugging, and desperate for a distraction he accepted her request.

He needed validation and for someone to show him that he was wanted after a night full of avoidance. And sex seemed like the perfect way to get what he needed.

She led him down a hallway full of doors, and pushed open the closest one to find it fortunately empty. Before the door closed their lips were already pressed against each others, sloppy and quick from lack of coordination. Shirts had been abandoned without a care as to where they landed, and rough kisses trailed from necks, to sharp collarbones, to soft chests. Jean pulled her onto the bed without his mouth ever leaving her body, making sure to get every last freckle—

No, _no_. Mikasa didn’t have freckles, she had unmarked, porcelain white skin. Her soft moans brought him back to reality when he bit a particularly sensitive area, and he felt a familiar jolt in his gut when she rolled her hips into his. Breathing heavily, their faces were flushed from the alcohol and the pleasure. The heat became suffocating, pants and undergarments being discarded from their bodies.

Mikasa had the common sense to bring a condom with her, and soon the bed was creaking to the time of his lustful thrusts. He towered over her, and let out a satisfied groan when she pulled at the roots of his hair. She rested her head back down onto the bed and arched her wide-- _small_ back until it was entirely off of the crumpled sheets. With his large hands placed at either side of his— _her_ body, he felt himself steadily growing closer to his climax and sped up his pace.

“J-Jean.” she stuttered, breaking off into another high pitched moan and raking her fingers down his back, causing him to falter. He always did have a thing for markings, and he closed his eyes as he felt the burning lines they left. Jean ran his fingers through her hair as well, and was surprised to find how much of it there was. Had it always been this long and soft?

“M..ah…” he moaned, burying his head into her shoulder. Sweat collected on his back, and his breathing became more labored as he grew closer and closer. “Marc—oh god..!”

His body tensed up, and he let out a long groan as he came. His mind went blank as pleasure washed all through his body in waves, and as he felt it coming to an end he struggled to keep himself upright.

Mikasa’s eyes widened and she turned her head to try to look Jean in the eyes. “Did you just—”

Jean was far too dazed to talk, what with the alcohol catching up to him and his limbs feeling like jelly. His eyes may have been open but he wasn’t looking at her or anywhere at all. He let out a final sigh, pulled out, and collapsed onto his side, barely avoiding landing on the girl beneath him. Snoring was heard mere seconds later, and Mikasa blinked a few times to make sure what just happened, happened.

“Did he just…?”

\--------------------------------------------

The next morning, Jean woke up feeling absolutely _disgusting._ His skin was caked in sweat, he had a headache that was trying to break its way out of his fucking skull, and— _was that a used condom he was still wearing?_ He recoiled at the sight and set out to go to his bathroom and clean up, when he realized several things.

One, his clothes were not on his body. His underwear was where it should be, but both his shirt and jeans were nowhere to be found.

Two, why was he wearing a condom in the first place? The obvious answer was he had sex with someone, but with who? The condom was sticking to him in an extremely uncomfortable way, and he peeled it off while looking around for his trash can.

And Three, he realized that this wasn’t his room. Everything in here was completely unfamiliar territory. The bed, the walls, the girl standing in the doorway wearing his shirt—

Memories hit him like a ton of bricks, and he mentally punched himself for not realizing what had happened earlier.

“Morning.” Mikasa greeted, a warm mug full of coffee in her hands. He found his body starting to crave caffeine just like it did every morning just at the sight of the liquid gold. His Halloween shirt was a bit too big for her, hanging off her shoulder and covering her mid-thigh. He would be the biggest liar in the world if he said she didn’t look extremely good in it.

“Uh...Morning,” He finally replied. Jean, remembering his lack of clothing grew uncomfortably warm. “Fuck, where are my…”

A pair of pants flew at him and he caught them just before the belt collided with his face. “...Thanks.”

She shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s nothing I didn’t see last night.”

Jean’s eyes widened and looked away in embarrassment. He lightly pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Last night, huh? So he really did sleep with her? He desperately wished for his tired mind to start working properly so he could remember the details clearly. Jean had been upset, she led him here, they did... _that_ , and then he…

“Oh _god_. Did I seriously just roll over and fuckin’ pass out after I—” he began, mortified with his actions. He wasn’t even sure if she got to—

“Honestly, I couldn’t believe it either. But it was pretty good until you called out someone else’s name and couldn’t even stay awake to help me finish. Kind of a dick move.” she explained like she was merely describing the weather. She took a sip of her hot drink, and gave a content sigh.

Jean’s face exploded with heat at the compliment, but he stopped as something she mentioned stuck in his ears. “I’m sorry, I did _what?_ Oh my fucking god…” he dragged a hand down his face in agony. “Whose name did I even call out?”

“Marco’s.”

Everything came to a screeching halt at the sound of his best friend. He called out...Marco? Like, _Marco_ Marco? Flashes of last night came to the front of his mind, and he broke out into a cold sweat as they confirmed that he had indeed moaned his best friend’s name while having sex with someone who was _clearly_ _not_ Marco. He even remembered imagining that her body was his instead, and scowled at his traitorous mind. What was going on with him recently?

“Is there something you need to talk about?” she offered, leaning against the doorway.

All traces of color left his cheeks, and he immediately went into defensive mode. “No. Fuck no. There’s nothing to talk about. What would there be to talk about?”

Mikasa rolled her eyes as if the answer was obvious. “I don't know, your sexual fantasies about your best friend? It’s not exactly what someone would call ‘normal’”.

“It didn’t mean anything.” The perfect eyebrow she raised at that showed just how much she believed him. He gave an exasperated sigh and the glare that normally rested on his face was back in full effect. “It’s _nothing_ , alright? Just let it go.”

He had hoped the emphasis on how much he didn’t want to talk about it would get through to the raven haired beauty. She took the hint and replaced Jean’s shirt with her own from last night, tossing it back to its owner. Only a red lacey bra shielded him from her chest, and Mikasa threw a knowing smile over her shoulder before walking out of the room as quietly as she came in.

Jean looked down at his returned shirt and was reminded of how stupid Marco thought his costume idea was. He crumpled up the shirt and scoffed at himself, and carefully lay back down on the bed. _The girl you just slept with was wearing this, and you’re thinking of someone else already? Just how fucking terrible are you?_

\--------------------------------------------

Quietly unlocking the door to their dorm, he came back in the late morning. He looked around for his friend, hoping he’d gotten home safely last night only to find him sprawled out on the ground. Marco was sound asleep, and Jean noticed that he hadn’t removed his makeup from yesterday.

There was no way in hell he was leaving him on the floor like that, so he bent down placing one hand under his knees and one on his back to carry him bridal style. Jean could feel that Marco was definitely well built and blushed while imagining those strong muscles of his. The close proximity allowed him to feel just how warm the brunette was; he felt like a fucking furnace. Was it normal for people to be this hot— _warm?_

Jean shook his head to clear it of any thoughts and tried to focus on the task at hand. He couldn’t carry him all the way up to his own bed, so he figured his would do for now. Placing him on a pillow and covering him in a blanket, he smiled when he saw how much his friend had visibly relaxed now that he wasn’t on the rough carpet. Though he _was_ a little surprised; Marco was a light sleeper so he thought the transfer would’ve woke him up. His loud, continuous snoring said otherwise.

Satisfied with the job he had done, he slid over to his desk and popped a few Ibuprofen into his mouth to eliminate his growing headache. Turning on his laptop, he checked on the few social media websites he frequented.

Everything was to be expected on there; filled with pictures from different Halloween parties. He didn’t bother leaving a comment on any of the ones he saw, instead only leaving a like on the ones including his friends. But it wasn’t long before his mind began to replay what Mikasa had told him earlier. He was sure he wasn’t having ‘sexual fantasies’ about Marco, and yet curiosity caused him to nervously bite at his lips. He found himself opening a new tab and typing away into a search engine.

_Thinking about my best friend a lot._

Results popped up instantly, one of them being “Is Your Best Guy Friend Thinking of You With His Right Hand?”

Jean face instantly burst scarlet, heat rolling off of his cheeks as he spluttered at the screen. Looking over at his sleeping friend as if afraid that he would know what he was searching up, he quickly typed in a different statement.

_Thought of my best friend during sex._

He wasn’t sure why he even typed this one in; he was bound to get strange results again. “I’m Sexually Attracted To My Best Friend” had been one of the top results. He tried one more time and hoped that he wouldn’t get similar answers.

_I like my best friend too much._

No such luck. The words “I’m In Love With My Best Friend” taunted him on the screen, and he gave a resigned sigh. It was painfully obvious even to him that what he felt for Marco wasn’t normal by any standard. Dragging his hands over his face, Jean closed his eyes and asked himself, _really_ asked himself; did he have feelings for Marco? And if he did, what kind of feelings were they? Was it lust? Romance? Or was it just a fling that would disappear if enough time passed?

Slowly opening his eyes again, he moved his hands to the keyboard and typed out another question.

_What sexuality am I?_

Jean had never questioned his sexuality before. He always assumed he was straight, both because it was how he was raised and because he found girls extremely sexually attractive. End of story. But the more he thought about it, the more he wondered if that was as far as it went. Had he subconsciously thought that guys were attractive too, and Marco had simply popped in to finally make him take notice? Or was he over thinking this and worrying for no reason? Was one person enough to make him question himself?

He was sure liking Marco would change the way he looked at him, and Jean was never a big fan of _change_. It brought unfamiliarity and anxiety and it was something he could never learn to love.

Marco, on the other hand, was full of familiarity. It wasn’t uncommon for the brunette to drown out his worries with a few calming words and a stroke of his hand against his hair. It had been two months, only two months since he met Marco. And yet he already knew as much as Connie and Sasha did about him. Marco knew everything about him.

Well, almost everything.

Jean was determined _not_ to think about _that_ today.

Shaking his head again to clear his thoughts, his mind was drawn back to how warm Marco was. He had no trouble feeling the heat through his clothes, and if he was being honest with himself he didn’t want to put him down at all. He wanted to keep that comforting heat and wrap himself in it, fall asleep next to it, wake up next to it, wake up next to _him_ —

Stomping footsteps resounded from behind him, and Jean scrambled to shut his laptop before anyone could see what he had been searching, slamming his fingers in the process. Cursing, he pulled them back and tried to shake off the pain.

Those footsteps ran all the way to the bathroom, and the blond cringed as he heard retching echoing loudly from the other room. He grabbed the Ibuprofen off of his desk and made his way to his hung-over best friend.

When he entered, Marco was groaning into the toilet bowl. His face had taken on a pale green color underneath all that makeup, and he truly did look undead now.

Kneeling onto the tiled floor and rubbing a hand against Marco’s back in soothing circles, he attempted to comfort his friend. “You okay?”

Though he had just thrown up all of last night into the toilet, his face was devoid of any emotion. He slowly lifted his face from his porcelain throne, and instead of turning his gaze to Jean he looked off to the side.

Weird.

“...I’m fine.” he finally stated, though his complexion said otherwise.

Jean rolled his eyes at his response. “You mean other than puking your guts out and looking like you just got ran over by a truck?”

No response. He began to wonder if his sarcasm wasn’t the best thing for his friend right now.

“You like, need anything?” Jean offered, rattling the bottle of medicine next to him.

Marco closed his eyes, and scrunched his dark eyebrows in pain. His hangover must be pretty bad, huh?

“No. Just...can you leave me alone, please?”

He hadn’t been expecting that answer, and stopped the hand that was rubbing circles into his back. Blinking a few times, he reluctantly moved from his spot on the floor. Who was he to argue if his friend wanted to puke in privacy. 

Before he left the bathroom, he looked back over his shoulder. “Alright. But make sure you take those meds, okay? And wash your face too. You forgot to last night, and the longer you wait the harder it’ll be to do.”

If Marco heard him, he didn’t show it. He just turned his head back into the toilet and heaved painfully, his entire body jerking as he let out shuddering breaths. He noticed his eyes were watering too; he must be puking pretty hard if he was crying that much.

\--------------------------------------------

It was Sunday, which meant he had the entire day to dick around until he rushed to do his homework that night. Since the first person he would normally hang out with was currently kneeling before the porcelain throne, Jean went on a hunt for Connie and Sasha instead.

The best place to look would be Connie’s place, since it was likely she was mooching off of him for food. He went the short distance to his dorm, and walked in without knocking; it wasn’t like he ever cared anyways.

True to his instinct, he found the two of them inside. Sasha hadn’t drunk as much as the other did last night, and as a result was feeling much better in the morning compared to _some_ people. The buzz cut man was sitting on the couch, shielded from the world in a cocoon of blankets. Muffled groaning came from under the fluffy pile, and Jean would feel bad for him if he had someone other than himself to blame. Meanwhile, the more sensible one was lying on her stomach on the ground, playing Smash against a group of CPU’s.

Both of them looked up at the blond as he entered and waved to his two friends, closing the door behind him. He made his way over to their mini fridge and grabbed a bottle of water for himself and his friend. “‘Sup, Mr. Hangover and Sash? Enjoy yourselves last night?”

Connie gave a loud groan in protest to his nickname, and Jean laughed lightly while tossing the bottle at him. It bounced off his blanketed leg with a soft thump. However Sasha had only creased her eyebrows at him in worry. What’s up with her?

She didn’t answer right away, but when she did he could tell she was being careful. “Our nights were fine. As you can see, Con here went a _little_ overboard on the drinks.”

“A little? I’m going to be nursing this headache and puking up Captain for the rest of my life.” he exaggerated like the drama queen he was. Jean still had no sympathy for him, and instead nudged him over so he could sit on the couch next to the little ball of death he called a friend.

“...How was _your_ night?” she asked. But the way she emphasized the ‘your’ made him slightly suspicious of her intentions.

“What do you mean?”

She paused her game before answering. Why was she being so hesitant and careful with her words? “Well, Connie and I saw you going off somewhere with Mikasa.”

His cheeks were dusted pink as he remembered last night’s events, and he drank some water in an attempt to distract himself. Mikasa had been so much different from what he expected; she was so rough yet careful and so _soft_. How were girls so soft? Her quiet moans contrasted her raking nails in a way that left him weak at the knees. But he recalled imagining her as Marco, _his_ Marco, and his face took on a whole new shade of red. He knew that his friend wasn’t truly his and probably never would be, but that didn’t stop his mind from running rampant with thoughts of him. Thoughts of what he would be like in Mikasa’s position, of what kind of sounds he would make, of what faces appeared when he was overwhelmed with pleasure. How easily would that tanned, freckled skin bruise underneath his lips? Would he be embarrassed by the marks he would leave? Or would he be left breathless, begging for more of them, just so everyone would know that he was Jean’s and Jean’s alone…

“So how was Marco?”

Jean choked on his water, inhaling then spitting it from his mouth and just barely catching it with his hand. Unfortunately, liquid was a slippery foe and had gotten all over his shirt. After he recovered from the initial shock, he was sure the water on his face would evaporate immediately what with how hot his face was.

“E-Excuse me? What does Marco have to do with this?” he finally squawked.

“Just answer the question, dude.” Connie had finally managed to say a full sentence, and Jean mentally applauded his efforts.

He thought back to how his friend was acting at their dorm. He was experiencing the normal side effects from downing too much alcohol, but he did have to admit something wasn’t...right.

“He was a bit off I guess?”

“Off how?” Sasha inquired from the floor.

Looking to the ceiling, he tried his best to recollect just what was different about Marco. “If I had to say something, I’d say he was...distant? Like he was there, but not really _there_ , you know?” He turned his attention back to the two friends. “Didn’t even let me help him nurse his hangover. Wanted to be alone.”

Connie and Sasha exchanged worried glances and seemed to have a conversation with their eyes alone. He hated it when they did that; it left Jean in the dark about what was going on. He raised one eyebrow in suspicion, and when they didn’t explain themselves he scrunched them in frustration.

“What? I can’t read minds like you two apparently can, so what the fuck is going on?” he questioned, quickly losing his patience.

“So nothing weird happened between you and Marco besides that?” Sasha asked. Jean was getting really tired of this interrogating thing they were doing, and felt anger begin to bubble underneath his surface. Dread was added to the mix when he realized what was going to happen.

“ _No_ , nothing else happened between Marco...but—” he started, and stopped himself before he could give anything away. The two of them had noticed though, and like a dog hooked on a scent they hounded him for answers.

“But? But what!”

“What happened?!”

_Stop asking me._

“Tell us!”

_Shut up. Shut up I can’t do this, I can’t take your interrogation please I don't want to end up—_

“Jean!”

“ _Shut the **fuck** up!_” He shouted, and stood up abruptly and stormed away from the two of them. He was losing his temper fast, and didn’t want to make things worse than they were already becoming. Jean’s anger hadn’t always been a problem, though. It was something he picked from his _Mother_ after…

He stopped himself. He promised himself he wasn’t going to think about it today, and was determined to keep it.

He desperately wished this trait of his would vanish off the face of the Earth, but seeing as it wasn’t going to happen any time soon he did the next best thing. Standing as far away from them as he could, he took slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm his anger and his heart. _Count to a number, any number. Just focus on something else. Distract your mind…_

After letting out a final breath, he was feeling less hot headed and more in control. Jean walked slowly back to the couch and threw himself next to Connie once again. They both looked as if they were holding their breaths, waiting for something.

“...Sorry.”

Both of them let out a grateful sigh, and talked at a million miles a minute. “No no, we’re sorry. We were being really invasive, and if it’s something you don’t want to talk about then we don't have to.” Connie apologized. They both gave him understanding looks, though were still cautious about setting him off again.

Jean hated it when this happened. This wasn’t the first time this has happened by far; with years of friendship came years of similar outbursts, years of moving himself away from people because he couldn’t fucking control himself or his anger. He had to remind himself that it wasn’t his fault that he was like this, that he was just a victim to…

_Don’t think about it. Distract yourself._

“Anyways, uh...the thing that happened.” Jean began. Sasha and Connie tried to stop him, to tell him that he didn’t have to talk about it, but he raised his hand to silence them. “It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. Well I mean it kind of is, but…”

Struggling to find his words, he stared at his hands and tried again. “When I was uh, having sex with Mikasa, I did something...weird.”

“Did you put it in her—”

“ _No,_ Connie oh my _god!”_ he cried out and covered his face, but laughter spilled from his lips. Connie snickered from inside his blanket fort, and even Sasha cackled from her place on the floor. Thankfully, his joke had lightened the mood a bit.

Jean tried to start again. “No, I just... _god_ this is embarrassing. She said I passed out right after I was done, and didn’t even give her a chance to finish.” He felt the disapproving cold glare Sasha was giving him, and he avoided it at all costs.

Connie whistled and wriggled an arm free to pat him on the shoulder. “That’s rough, buddy.”

Accepting his hand of sympathy, he continued. “That’s not all though. She told me I even called out...someone else’s name.”

This caught both of their attentions, and all eyes were focused on him as they waited for him to say the name with baited breaths.

He quietly mumbled his name.

“What? We can’t hear you.” Sasha stated. By now she had turned her body to Jean and was looking up at him while sitting cross legged.

He murmured it again.

“Bro, you’ve gotta speak up. If you’re going to tell us, make it so we can at least understand what you’re trying to say.” Connie pushed. He was going to actually have to say it, wasn’t he? He took a deep breath, but words tumbled out of his mouth before he could think better of them.

“I said Marco’s name, okay? I fucking shouted Marco when I was with Mikasa and I am the worst person on this entire planet because he’s my _best friend!_ Normal people don’t shout their _best friend’s name_ when they’re having sex with someone who is clearly not them. And she wouldn’t let it go, and now I can’t stop thinking about it and I can’t stop thinking about _him_ and it’s _fucking me up!_ ”

Jean was breathing heavily by the time he finished speaking, and when he looked down he noticed his hands were shaking. Pulling them into fists, he attempted to calm his body and let what he just said soak into not only his friends but into him too. But after realizing what he just said, he immediately tried to backtrack and covered his mouth. But the damage was done. The secret he didn’t even _know_ was a secret until recently was revealed in a moment of carelessness. And the two of them looked just as shocked as he did.

“Marco? like _Marco_ Marco?” Connie confirmed, and Jean nodded ashamedly. He was never going to live this down, not for the rest of his life. He expected ridicule from them, vicious teasing about how weird it was for him to like his best friend, or maybe for them to avoid him for a while.

What he _didn’t_ expect was a gasp of excitement from Sasha. He looked over to her in confusion, silently asking her to explain herself.

“Oh my god!”

Ah. There was the disgusted reaction he expected. Jean blinked once and hung his head down low. “Yeah, I know. I’m fucking awful.”

“Oh my _god!”_

“I know, Sasha.” he answered, keeping his eyes down and more than a little annoyed that she made him repeat himself. He was already feeling bad enough about this as it is.

“You have to tell him!” she exclaimed, shaking him and grabbing him by the shoulders.

“I _know_ , Sa— wait. What?!” he cried out as his head snapped up in shock. He tried to pull away from her relenting grip, but she firmly held him in place. Did she want him to die of embarrassment or something? Because Jean knew that was the only thing that would happen if he listened to her. She only dug her nails further into his skin, and he was sure he could feel the crescent indents they would leave on him.

“Ask him out!” Connie cheered, fully emerging from his blanket cocoon.

Jean groaned and dragged a hand down his face in exasperation. “Not you too man, there’s no way I’d do that!”

“Well, why not?” Sasha demanded, clearly not seeing the problem. He stared at her with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t understand right away.

“Why _not??_ Because I don’t even know if I _like_ guys, Sash, let alone Marco. This just happened last night, you can’t expect me to do anything about it now! Plus...” he trailed off.

“Plus?” they prodded.

“Plus...I don’t think Marco thinks of me that way. It wouldn’t happen.” he admitted. It hurt him to think about that aloud, but in all honesty it was the truth. Marco deserved someone better than someone who was as angry, unpleasant, and had as many problems as he did.

Connie and Sasha shared a look of disbelief, and the former threw his hands into the air before sighing sharply. “Unbelievable.” He muttered.

Both of them hummed in thought, lost about what to do about the Marco situation. The conversation was going downhill for him, so to prevent any further damage to his heart he slipped out of her distracted death drip and got up to leave their dorm.

A sound from his friend stopped him in his tracks, mostly out of confusion.

“Krista!” Connie suggested while pounding his fist on his open palm. He made it sound as if the answer to the universe’s problems were hidden in that name. Jean looked over to the pony tailed girl to see if she understood what Connie had meant, and her eyes grew wide before she smiled and nodded her head quickly.

“Yeah, Krista!” she grinned, before turning to Jean to see if she saw what they were getting at. He didn’t, _as usual_ , and it made him irritated, _as usual_.

“Hah? What the hell are you two talking about? Who’s Krista?” he demanded, his hand hanging on the doorknob.

Connie spoke with rapid hand movements. “Y’know, blonde girl, really short, blue eyes, looks and acts like an actual angel?” he tried to describe, but to no avail. Jean couldn’t recall her face for the life of him. Were they sure he actually met this ‘Krista’?

Sasha waved the confusion aside with her hand. “Doesn’t matter. She lives in an apartment off campus, and she’s really well informed on things like sexuality and gender and _all_ that good stuff. 

Connie pointed to her in agreement. “Should totally talk to her. You said you’re not sure if you like guys or not, yeah? She can probably help clear some stuff up for you, and what better place to start out than there?”

Jean hated to admit it, but their offer made sense and was extremely tempting. It was something he wanted to look into, and if he was being honest he wasn’t sure how much of the internet’s information he could trust. Not to mention sexuality quizzes probably weren’t the best thing for him to go off of. If this Krista girl was as nice as they said she was, then this could be just the kind of resource he’s wanted to get in touch with. Maybe he could finally stop being confused about all this bullshit, and set some things about him straight. Or, _not_ straight? He wasn’t sure how this all was going to work, but he was more than willing to try and figure it out.

“...Alright, Fine. If it’ll get you two off of my back for two seconds.” he surrendered, while Connie and Sasha high-fived each other and gave him Krista’s address. They kicked him out of the room and urged him to go see her as soon as he could, which apparently meant right this very second. Slamming the door shut in his face, he blinked at how excited they had seemed.

What was their problem?

Why did they seem so urgent to figure out who Jean wanted to bang? And _why_ did they want him to ask out Marco so badly? He was positive the freckled brunette felt nothing romantic or otherwise for him, but they seemed absolutely convinced he did. Why, he wasn’t sure. Marco was his _best friend_ after all. For one reason or another, the name started to have a bittersweet feeling to it.

He stared down at the address on his phone and tapped it into Maps, using it as his only source of guidance.


	9. Sexuality and Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean goes to talk to Krista, and bad things happen between Marco and Jean.

Jean made his way down the familiar streets of Trost, and fortunately recognized the place that this so called ‘Krista’ lived. It was a cold morning, but he couldn’t bring himself to go back to his own place to grab a coat to keep warm. Not after his conversation with Thing 1 and Thing 2 still running rampant in his head.

Trees stripped of their green color passed him on the way there. Their leaves were scattered on the ground, and the crunch underneath his feet left him feeling oddly satisfied. Not many people were out, so the sidewalks were empty save for a stray jogger here and there. When his phone announced that his destination would be on his left, he turned and found what he had been looking for.

Krista lived in a fairly decent looking apartment in a complex called Reiss Apartments. He wouldn’t mind living here some day, actually. The pricing was a little more on the high side, but he personally thought it would be a good investment. Walking up a few sets of stone stairs, Jean finally reached room 307. He knocked on the white door a few times, when he suddenly realized how rude and weird it was for a stranger to find her home and ask her about his problems. Panic flooded his mind, and he turned around to leave when he heard the door open and a voice shout at him.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Jean had never been religious, but he prayed to god that _that_ wasn’t Krista.

Carefully and slowly turning around, he glanced at the person who’d shouted to him. What greeted him was dark, relatively short hair, a tall lean physique, and freckles that reminded him of Marco but an intimidating glare on her face that did anything but. This person didn’t match any of Connie’s descriptions, and he struggled between feeling relief and more apprehension.

“You with the undercut. I’m _talking_ to you. What are you doing here?” She repeated, voice laced with irritation that Jean felt too nervous to return.

It was then he realized she was waiting for an answer. “Oh. Uh...I’m looking for...K-Krista? Can I talk to her?” he requested, cursing himself for stuttering. Way to fucking go, tough guy.

Leaning her weight on one leg, the tall and threatening girl lifted her chin up and looked down at Jean as if he was the scum of the Earth for even suggesting such a thing. “And why should I let a sketchy punk like you talk to Krista?”

He didn’t have an answer for that, but the hair on the back of his neck bristled at her continuous ridicule. Jean stood there opening and closing his mouth, a mix of nervousness and anger swirling in his belly restlessly.

Saving him from doing something embarrassing or rash, a small girl appeared from behind the brunette. Her eyes were a beautiful pale blue just like Connie had said, and her blond hair surrounded her and glowed almost like a halo. _A goddess._ _She has to be a goddess._

“Um…?” a feminine voice chimed in, and he focused his vision back to see that it belonged to the small one.

Once again, Jean failed to formulate an immediate answer like regular people tended to do. “O-oh! Uh…” He struggled, his entire vocabulary escaping his brain like a flock of frightened birds.

“Can I help you?” she tried again, and he silently thanked her for her patience. She really was as nice as they’d said.

“Yeah. My friends, they told me that I could talk to you about...y’know, about like, if I might be…” he tried, but the words were stuck in his throat. He couldn’t just come out and say it, could he? Was that an acceptable thing for him to say? He tried to subtly wipe his hands on his jeans.

“He wants you to tell him if he likes dick or not.” The tall one scoffed, and Jean choked at how fucking blunt this person was. He blinked several times, but couldn’t bring himself to deny it. That _was_ what he came here for, crudeness of the statement aside.

Krista shoved the freckled girl, and to Jean’s surprise she actually stumbled a bit. Maybe she was stronger than she originally let on. “Come on, Ymir! Stop messing with him. Can’t you lay off just a little?” she pleaded.

This girl was looking more and more angelic by the second.

The other one, apparently Ymir, wrapped her arm around Krista’s side and mischievously looked down at her. “Aw but _babe_ , can’t I have a little fun with the human beanpole over here? He looks like he might piss his pants if I say one more thing to him.”

“Hey, shut the hell up! I’m _fine_ , fuck you very much.” Jean retorted, gaining a bit more confidence back.

“Whoa, kid’s got some bite in him.” Ymir tested, and he was _so fucking close to leaving_. He clenched his fists at his sides and felt his jaw tense at her carefree and bitchy attitude. His glare was back in full force, and he was about to shout some pretty colorful words until a small guardian angel spoke up.

“ _No_ , Ymir. Now leave him alone, or I’ll ignore you for the whole day.” she chided, and Jean was grateful for her interference.

“Oh c’mon. You wouldn’t do that.” the freckled girl reassured.

“Come on in, um…?”

“Jean.” he finished, nodding his head in greeting.

“Uh—” Ymir tried to jump in, but the small blonde cut her off ruthlessly.

“Okay Jean. My name’s Krista.” she held out a small hand for him to shake, and he was surprised by how firm her grip was. The smile she gave him was blindingly bright, and Jean felt obligated to give a nervous smirk of his own. “We can go into my room and talk, if that’ll make you more comfortable?” Krista offered.

Jean’s smile became less forced, and his shoulders relaxed from their hunched position. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Anywhere away from Ymir sounded great, actually.

“Good!” she chirped, and led him inside to a safer place to talk about what he needed to.

“Babe?” Ymir tried again, but true to her word Krista ignored her entirely and shut the door behind Jean. _Note to self; don’t test small blonde girls._

“Sorry about that. She can be a bit of a handful sometimes.” Krista apologized as Jean stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Thankfully she gestured to the bed, and he sat on it gingerly to try and feel more comfortable. The room had a few things scattered here and there, photos and posters and _were those two pairs of underwear?_ Like a thermometer his face rose in heat and color, and he averted his eyes from the offending cloth.

“Who _is_ she by the way? She acts like she owns the place.” Jean grumbled.

A warm smile spread across her face, and she looked down at her feet bashfully. “I mean, she kind of does. Ymir’s my girlfriend, and we live here together.”

Jean was thoroughly surprised; how did Ymir manage to get with someone as nice as her? And what did she even see in the freckled demon? From what he had briefly seen, she had been extremely territorial and rude in a way that made him want to punch her in the face. Krista obviously didn’t see this in her, or if she did she had to be accepting her wholeheartedly. His heart felt as warm as the smile on her face when he thought about how much she must love her if she can accept her flaws for what they are.

He sunk further into the bed. “Yeah? That’s really nice. How long you two been together?”

A piece of blonde hair twirled and twisted around her finger. “Almost three years now. We met in Junior year of high school and while it hasn’t been easy for either of us, we’re both really happy. She couldn’t get into the same college as me, but despite that we still wanted to be together. And since my dad owns this place we got one for a great deal—”

“Wait, your dad runs this huge ass complex?”

Krista widened her eyes and covered her mouth with both of her hands just a little too late. “Y-yeah, but please don’t tell anyone! It’s something that I’ve been trying to keep on the down low since people were always bugging me about getting into here on a special discount and—Oh! I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to talk about myself so much…” She retracted quietly, and he wished she didn’t feel the need to say she was sorry all the time. He wasn’t _that_ scary looking...was he?

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it, okay?” Jean reassured, and the happy look was back on her face as quickly as it left.

“Right. Thank you, Jean.” Krista almost looked to be glowing, and once again the word _goddess_ came to mind. “So, what can I help you with today? Did you actually come here so I could tell you if you like dick or not?”

Jean’s jaw dropped at the crude word escaping her mouth. That _so_ didn’t fit her appearance, and his face apparently spoke his mind because Krista burst out laughing at his reaction. He closed his mouth and collected himself before answering her question.

“More or less. But I mean, it’s kind of a long story…” his voice diminished.

Krista plopped her small body next to him on the bed and leaned forward while placing her chin on her folded hands. “I’ve got plenty of time.”

She was giving him all her attention and it was something he wasn’t used to. Not one to waste an opportunity when given to him, he took a deep breath and began to tell her his story. “Well…”

.

..

...

“Ah, I see.” Krista hummed, stretching her arms above her head. She mewled quietly when she did, and let out a relieved sigh once all her muscles were stretched and her stiff bones were cracked. “And you want me to tell you if this means you like guys?”

Jean had long since relaxed in her presence, and he felt compelled to tell her everything that happened. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he felt like anything he said would be kept safe and a secret between them. “Basically. I know it’s kind of weird to ask someone else, but like I said earlier, Connie and Sasha said you’d be good to talk to.”

“I’m glad they think so well of me! Okay Jean, this next series of questions may feel a bit personal or confusing, but I promise it’ll make sense later. You ready?” she questioned.

Jean gave her a thumbs up as the okay to start the questioning.

“Great. First, you need to understand some things. Sexuality isn’t something that has to stay the same your entire life. You might find out later that you’re not very attracted to ladies, or vice versa. If you end up changing your mind about what you are, that’s 100% okay! Keep questioning until you are certain that your label is for you.” Jean nodded once to show he was still listening. “Second, a person’s physical and emotional attractions don’t have to be the same. You might find that you lean more towards guys when it comes to sex and girls when it comes to romance. Each gender doesn’t have to have the same kind or level of attraction attached to them. Did that make sense?”

Another nod.

“Then let’s get started! I’m going to ask the easiest and also the hardest question first. Have you ever had a crush on a guy?”

Going straight for the kill, huh. “Define crush.”

Krista lay down on her back and stared up at the ceiling. “You know, someone you want to be with all the time, go on dates with, hold or even kiss. Someone you’ve looked at and felt the way you do when you have a crush on a girl.”

Mimicking her position, he turned his head to the side and looked at her posters. There were a lot of them on her walls. He wasn’t sure what they were of, but they were really pretty, and he would likely ask about them later. “I don’t know, I never took any special notice.”

“Didn’t think it was going to be that easy.” She giggled, and started over. “Okay, then I want you to think back to guys you’ve seen. What’s the first thing you notice about them?”

He thought for a bit and came up with an answer. “Their hair I guess?”

She nodded once. “Why their hair?”

“I don't know, that’s just where my eyes go first. Nothing special about it.”

Krista hummed again, and he patiently waited for her next question. “You’ve been in a locker room, right?”

“‘Course I have.”

“And there are lots of guys changing there, right?”

“Yeah…?” He questioned, and was pretty sure he knew where this was going.

She turned her head to him, and he did the same. “Have you ever forced yourself to look away?”

“Look...away?”

“Like...a part of you really wanted to look but another part told you not to? So you just close your eyes or look down instead. Ever had that happen?” she inquired.

 _Had_ he? Jean thought back to high school, something he was hoping he would never have to do again. Guys would be getting changed during gym, he would look over to them and...now that he was forced think about it he found that an alarming majority of the time he _did_ have to look away from them. Not only that, he would try to get out of the locker rooms as soon as possible to avoid seeing them for too long. Why had he done that, again?

The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he’d been doing the same thing to Marco recently. When his shirt would slip up accidentally, he would force himself to look anywhere but that sliver of tanned, freckled skin. It was the _worst_ when his hip bones would show up, and he felt some kind of pull inside him just thinking about them popping out from underneath his shirt. Jean had always dismissed it as envy for his toned body, but maybe it really _was_ something more.

“Jean?” Krista called, and he blinked his distracting thoughts away, not realizing he didn’t answer the question.

“Huh? Oh. Uh...yeah. I have.”

“Really? I see.” she noted, and turned her attention back to the ceiling. “Does it happen often?”

His face grew warm at the question, and he knew he had no chance in lying to her. “Before it hadn’t since high school, but...more recently…” his voice quieted down, but he was sure she got the gist of it.

“Let me guess, is it Marco?”

By now everyone’s guessing ceased to surprise him, and he only let out a long sigh. “You could tell?”

“I mean it _does_ seem like he’s the source of your sexuality crisis.” she offered, and Jean couldn’t argue with her. Just as soon as this question had come she zoomed off to a new one. “Do you like girls?”

This was a no brainer for him. “Fuck yeah I do.”

He realized too late that he probably should have used better language, but she just laughed at him and brushed it off.

“You know for sure you’re attracted to girls?”

“Yeah, I am. It’s not some denial thing, I genuinely have crushes on girls and want to kiss and have sex with them. And stuff.” he confirmed, and Jean was glad he could say that with such confidence. It was nice knowing something for certain; he could hold onto it when he was uncertain about all these other things going on.

“Okay, we’re getting somewhere. Now, this is where it gets a bit personal. If I start making you uncomfortable, just say you want me to stop and I will. Do I still have your consent?”

Jean gave another thumbs up, and she smiled warmly.

“Great! Now...I remember you saying that you’ve had sexual thoughts about guys before, specifically Marco, right?” Krista confirmed. He hummed ‘mhm’ while avoiding looking at her directly. “Has it happened besides that one time?”

Fiddling with the edge of his shirt, he eventually answered. “I mean...kind of? It hasn’t gone too far but...I’ve entertained the thoughts before.”

“And did you like them?”

"…I guess so.” His answer might have been an understatement, but she didn’t need to know.

“Any that weren’t sexual? Like for instance, romantic?”

He thought back to when he had first gotten back from the party, and nodded quickly when he thought of how warm Marco was, and how he wanted to keep him safe and happy. “But, that part hasn’t happened before. Not until now, I mean. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this romantic-y bullshit with guys.”

Krista hummed again in thought. “So what I'm getting so far is that you are attracted to girls in every sense of the word, and until now have only felt sexual attraction towards guys? But now, romantic feelings for Marco are getting thrown in the mix, so you’re getting confused and beginning to question yourself?”

Jean looked for any holes in her statement, but found it to be seamless. She seemed to hit every point. “Yeah.”

A blur of blonde surprised him as she sat up quickly from her place on the bed, and he slowly followed suit. “You don’t need to 100% take my word for it, but from what I’m getting from you, you seem to be bisexual. Though you do tend to lean more towards women than men, which isn’t bad at all or make you less of one.”

Bisexual, huh. He tested the word in his mind, and it was different from what he was used to. He had always assumed he was going to be straight, get a wife, and have kids. That had been the only real option for him, until now that is. Now he had no idea who he might marry. Would it be a girl? Who knows? Would it be a guy? Not as likely, but it might. The thought of being bisexual wasn’t as big a revelation as he figured it would be. The world didn’t end, dicks didn’t start flying in his face, and he was still happy. He was still Jean, but with an extension pack he didn’t even know he had. And he was really, genuinely okay with it.

“Also, this should be a no brainer by now, but you’ve really got it bad for Marco, Jean. Like, _really_ bad.”

The idea of liking him didn’t seem as scary to him now. It even brought a warm feeling to his heart instead of frantic fluttering in his chest. “Yeah...maybe.” he smiled.

It was late afternoon by the time Jean left their apartment. He apologized for staying so long, and left immediately as to not overstay his welcome. He thanked her profusely, though he tried his best to get past Ymir without having to talk to her. He had no such luck, and was attacked with a few more choice nicknames before he was gone.

Walking back to their dorm, he had an extra spring in his step. Things in his life were cleared up and less confusing, and even the sun shining on his back was like a comforting hug to him. Planning to take a shower since he hadn’t yet today, he unlocked the door and walked inside their dorm. He was reaching for an abandoned towel when he saw Marco lying on his bed.

He smiled at him and walked over to his sick friend. “Hey, Marco. Feeling better?”

No response. Was he sleeping? He looked over his roommates shoulder to find he was in fact awake. He was staring at the wall in front of him, still in that zoned out state from earlier. Concern wormed it’s way into Jean’s body.

“Are you okay?” he worried, shaking his shoulder a little.

“Mhm.” was the one word response he received.

He tried again. “Come on, don’t lie. I know when something’s wrong. Now tell me what’s bugging you.”

“Why would you care?”

The words stung his skin, and his eyes widened in confusion and disbelief at what he was hearing. “Why would— because I’m your best friend?”

Marco flinched underneath his hand, and his concern slowly turned into something he desperately wished it wasn’t.

“Did I do something wrong?” Jean asked.

_Please don’t let it happen this time. Control yourself. Not to him. Not to—_

“Oi. Marco.” he stated, and he could practically feel the irritation bubbling in his stomach.

_Don’t yell don’t yell don’t yell—_

“Quit ignoring me! I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what the fuck I did first!”

_You’re going to ruin everything._

Marco snapped up from where he was lying and the anger and hurt in his eyes was enough to cause him to step back. Were those...tears?

“ _It. Doesn’t. Matter._ Because even if I fucking told you, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“What are you—”

“I’d still be your _good friend_ Marco and NOTHING would be different. You’d still go around and do whatever you wanted and do _whoever_ you wanted because you’re the almighty Jean Kirschtein, right?!”

Jean stood there, stunned into silence.

“You don’t need to think about how it affects people because you can _fucking afford_ to do that because what I say to you doesn’t matter to you in the _fucking_ slightest!”

He trembled, and desperately gripped the towel in his hands in an attempt to hold himself and his emotions together.

“ _What I want won’t affect you_ because you don’t—It won't— _It **can’t** happen_.” His voice had taken on a bitter tone, one he had never heard him make before, not even jokingly. His voice was shaking and unsteady, just like his hands. He didn’t know where all this anger and sorrow was coming from and it scared him. But more than that, it made him _furious._

_Keep calm keep calm please just this once—_

“What fucking right do you have saying that I don’t care?!”

“It’s because it’s _TRUE.”_

Jean clenched his teeth and his fists, and tried to keep the monster in him at bay just a little longer. “I. _fucking. **care** ,_ Marco. What the hell did I do to make you think I don’t?!”

“You don’t have to lie.” he muttered, and kept his gaze locked on his equally clenched fists.

 _Marco, please don’t. Don’t let this happen, I don't want this to happen, I don't—_  

“WHY do you think I’m lying, huh? WHAT have I done?! When I have done _nothing_ but be supportive and a good fucking friend to you—”

“Just **_FUCK OFF!_** Leave! Leave me alone! Quit t-toying with me, Jean! I can’t do this shit anymore, I— I— _I can’t!”_ He exploded, and by this time he was standing with tears streaming down his face, his beautiful freckled face that he cared for so much. The same one that shredded him to pieces with a few words that hit a little too close to home.

_I’m sorry, Marco._

Jean slammed his fist loudly against a wall, a loud crack resounding before silence rung in their ears like a deadly call. Both of them were panting heavily, and neither could make eye contact with the other. When he pulled his fist back, he found red smears on the wall and matching ones on his knuckles. A dent was made in that wall, and Marco pointedly looked at the mark he left. He could see it, the look he never wanted to see in those chocolate brown eyes of his as long as he lived; fear. Fear of Jean, fear of what he could do, fear of what he could do to _him._ The blond would never, _never_ hurt him like that, but Marco had no way of knowing that. Marco didn’t know about his outbursts; this was the first time he had seen Jean like this.

But the damage was done. He’d let his anger get the better of him, couldn’t hold it back _again_ , and he could almost physically see the trust dissolving between the two of them.

It hurt him. It hurt him _so fucking bad_ , and yet he couldn’t do anything to make it better.

He could see him shaking like a leaf, and rightfully so. Marco slid to the ground and held his head in his hands, trying to tame his shuddering and hitching breaths. Jean croaked out one word before he quietly walked out of that room of theirs, gently closing the door without looking back.

“...Sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah yes, part 2. I'm so sorry, so so so sorry. I had a lot of time to work on this chapter since i've been at my dads. I'm surprised at myself, honestly.
> 
> Next chapter we will get to know a lot about Jean's past. I think it'll be relatively short, so it might even come soon!
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	10. Childhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything about Jean's childhood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE BE WARNED. HEAVY CHILD ABUSE IN THIS CHAPTER.  
> Aside from that, please enjoy!

Summer that year was unusually hot and dry. It was a pure kind of heat that grabbed you by the throat and demanded to be given attention from millions of miles away. The sun burned some and gave others an attractive tan. For some people it even brought out a new set of freckles to join their existing ones.

But more than anything the weather brought along a blue sky that never seemed to cloud up, and a barrage of insects. Chirping bugs would hop and twirl around with the white butterflies, creating an enchanting dance in the dehydrated grass. Bees zoomed and buzzed around the flowers, hoping to find even a little pollen in their centers. Ants trudged along the ground in clumps, beetles clung to the trunks of trees, and even dragon flies zipped across yard upon yard. Everywhere was teeming with insect life.

Here in the large city of Trost, temperatures had been reaching triple digits for days at a time. It left the fortunate no other choice but to flick on their air conditioner and the less fortunate to scramble for their desk fans. No one could quite remember the last time it had rained, but many didn't mind it. It was easy to forget the looming threat the unbearable heat brought on.

Despite that, a small, chubby boy ran around in his backyard with dying grass tickling between his round toes. Giggles spilled into the air, his grins challenging the bright sunshine’s rays. With time his vulnerable skin had become red, as the unrelenting sun pounded on his bare chest and arms. Alongside him a small white puppy pranced and barked, trying to nip at the threatening sprays of cold water from a bright red sprinkler. It sprayed in rhythmic patterns all around, relieving him and his pet from the relentless heat of the summer day.

“Dad! Come on come _on,_ it’s super hot outside! You have to play too, otherwise you’ll get all shriveled up and _die_!” he called, and stomped over to him. His puppy trotted right behind him.

The tall man smiled at his son’s reasoning but remained in his spot on the porch. “’S that so?”

“Uh huh! I put a grape out here one time and I forgot about it and when I looked for it, it was all shriveled up and wrinkly and gross, so if you don’t get in the water fast you’ll get wrinkly and gross too.” he argued while tugging on his dad’s arm insistently. Their dog barked in agreement. He got a quiet laugh in return.

“You too, Milkshake?” he directed towards the puppy, and turned back to the small boy. “Alright, Jean. I can’t argue with that reasoning, can I?” the father resigned and allowed himself to be pulled by his excited son.

Seeing the smile on his pudgy face was more than worth leaving his seat, and he went towards the sprinklers with him. Jacques had miraculously managed to match the six-year old’s endless energy. Back and forth they ran, Milkshake excitedly barking as the sprays of cold water clung to all of their fast legs. Dad’s shirt quickly took in all the moisture, and he found himself wiping his face when it made his vision blur. Brown mud splashed up when one of the three stomped just a _little_ too hard, yet they continued laughing and rinsing it off in the sprinkler.

Their frolicking came to an end, however, at the sound of a kind woman’s voice calling out. “Boys! You’ve been out there for an eternity and a half. Come inside and get some food; cool off for a bit!”

They both looked up at her at the same time, Jean’s amber eye color complimenting his dad’s forest green ones. The father’s clothes were soaked by now, though he paid it no mind. He ran a hand through his short brown hair and grinned at his loving wife, Stephanie.

But when he moved to go inside, her warmth was replaced with stern look and she turned him down quickly. One hand was placed on a wide hip while another gestured to her husband. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

He looked behind him to see her pointing out several things. The sprinkler was left on, his clothes were soaking wet, and the dog was unsuccessful in rinsing off the mud they accumulated. Although Milkshake didn’t seem to mind, seeing as she was panting heavily with a smile. Laughing nervously, he wrung his shirt free of water and picked up the small dog to wave her over the sprinkler. “Thanks, honey.”

Shaking her blonde head and smiling at his forgetfulness, Stephanie welcomed him inside. Two towels, one large and one small, were waiting for them on her shoulder. “Just hurry up and get in here before you two get redder than a lobster.”

“Whoa! Can I really get that red?!” the hyperactive child shouted, bounding up and down behind his dad. “I wanna get that red!”

“No, Jean. You’ll get skin cancer and die before that happens.” he stated.

Big, childish amber eyes went impossibly wide at his words. “I’ll…die?”

He hummed in agreement and put the now clean dog onto the ground and watched it scurry inside. Before Jean’s terrified alligator tears could escape, Stephanie yanked Jean’s father inside and scowled at him. “Jacques! You’re _not_ helping.”

“Sorry, sorry! He’ll be fine.” he apologized, and turned back to his sniffling son. “You’ll be _fine,_ Jean-bo. You’re going to live forever.”

“…Forever?” Jean whimpered, wiping his wet nose with the back of his hand.

Crouching down, he ruffled a hand through Jean’s pure dark brown locks. “Forever and ever. _You’ll_ live forever, and your mom and I will live forever. So don’t cry, okay?” he reassured.

This seemed to put Jean’s mind at ease for now, and he nodded once before following his mother inside where the air conditioning was blasted and the carpet was soft. At the kitchen table his baby sister, Rose, was spitting up bubbles and trying to wriggle free from her high chair. Her tiny fists pounded on the empty tray in front of her, as if demanding for food.

Jean turned his gaze to a tray of sandwiches cut into triangles, watermelon, and iced lemonade. The holy trinity of summer foods. Mood instantly improving he ran for the table, startling the puppy from her drink at her bowl.

Jean crawled up into a cushioned wooden chair, and smiled at all the food that lay before him. He waited for his parents, eager to eat already and making it known with his complaints. “ _Moooooom_ , _Daaaaaaad_ , hurry up!”

They only seemed to walk slower, and the small child groaned in his seat. Dad made his way down the stairs, adjusting the new shirt he had thrown on in favor of his soaked one.

It was his painting shirt; the one he wore when he worked on art projects or if he decided the white walls were a little too bland. He even had a special room for where he worked; paints and oils of different types littered on every available surface. He wasn’t a well known artist, but painting was something he loved to do and wasn’t terrible at. A few of his paintings hung around the house; beautiful, lush, green scenery from France glowing on their decorated canvases. He had even done one of Stephanie back from when she met him on a trip to France. She unknowingly stood in front of said painting, a hand lingering on her wide hip.

“The food’s not going anywhere, Jean. Hold on.” she chided, and Jacques smiled at her lovingly.

She took her seat at the table after placing some small bite-sized pieces of food on their baby’s plate. Soon enough, Jacques followed her lead. Unable to wait another second, Jean grabbed a few sandwiches and a slice of watermelon. He didn’t hesitate before digging into his lunch. Happily moaning around bits of bread and cheese, he took several more large bites.

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down! You’ll choke that way—” the father worried, and his wife shot him a glare before he could end it with something to make Jean cry again. They had just gotten him happy, after all.

Watching him scarf down sandwich after sandwich, Jacques whistled lowly to himself. Milkshake walked under the table and settled beneath Jean’s kicking feet. Jacques looked to his wife and smirked a signature Kirschtein smirk. “He gets that from you, you know. The eating habits.”

Stephanie's face grew red with embarrassment, unable to deny it yet unhappy with his words. The teasing husband laughed as he reached for her hand. She furrowed her brows deeper in an attempt to stay upset. Squeezing her hand fortunately squeezed a giggle out of her, and soon the both of them were laughing in their cushioned seats, trying to cover it up. Their rings gleamed in the afternoon sun, and Jean stopped his eating to look at both of them quizzically.

“Wha’?” he queried around a mouthful of food.

Unfortunately this only made the laughter explode from behind their hands, and made Jean more confused.

.

..

...

That night, Jean was awoken by a loud boom, suffocating heat, and the smell of something _different._ For one reason or another, the air was a little harder to breathe, but he didn’t let it bother him.

It wasn’t uncommon for fireworks to be set off several days before the 4th of July happened, so he assumed that was what the first sound was. The heat was always unrelenting even in the evenings, but most of the time the air conditioning kept things bearable. Was it broken? Kicking off his blankets, he got up onto his knees to open his window.

But the glass was warm, abnormally so. It wasn’t _that_ hot outside…was it?

Putting the strange warmth to the back of his head, he pulled on the handle and tugged the window open.

A burst of heat and a sickening, thick smell wafted into his nostrils, and he recoiled at the assault on his nose.

“What _is_ that?” he wondered aloud, coughing in an attempt to rid the foul thing from his chest. Covering his nose with his blanket he peeked outside his window.

What he saw left pure, unadulterated fear in the pit of his stomach.

Flames were licking up the side of the house, and were spreading quickly to any windows that had been left open. Green grass burned black, and he could see the heat waves the fire produced along with thick, dark smoke. Realizing he was in danger yet unable to move, Jean could only stare as the fire crawled higher and higher in a deathly dance.

Loud thumping reverberated throughout the house, and his bedroom door slammed open. Shakily, Jean pulled his gaze from the flames to find a panicked yet determined father standing in his doorway.

“Jean! Get away from the window!” he commanded, and before Jean could move he was scooped up by a pair of strong arms. His entire body went limp as his father rushed him out of the room, and tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was due to fear or the smoke that now invaded the inside of his home.

As he was finally brought outside, he heard shrill shouting echo into the night. Their neighbors trickled out of their houses, watching the disaster in pity as if it would help their situation.

“Oh my god, my babies! Where’s my husband? Where’s my—Jean!” his mom called out and ran to join the two. Tears were streaming down her face, and she inspected his body for injuries. “You’re alright?”

Jean nodded once, torn between feeling relief and fear from the fire that continued to devour his home. But looking around, he noticed members of his family were missing. Glancing back to his parents, he quietly asked, “Where’s Rose and Milkshake?”

Both of the parents stopped, Stephanie’s eyes widening in horror as she slowly covered her mouth. She looked like she was going to be sick. “ _Oh god._ ”

Sure enough, both their baby and their small puppy were absent from the group. Jean looked over his shoulder to what remained of his house, and felt a lump in his throat as he began to cry.

“Jean, _baby_ , don’t cry. Please, just…” his mom tried to comfort him, though she looked like she was ready to break down as well. Her usual well kept hair was in disarray, and her eyes were puffy from crying.

“I’ll go and get them.” Jacques avowed, putting Jean in her arms and turning back to the still burning house.

“Jacques, stop! Don’t! I’ll go instead—”

He ignored her pleas and ran inside, straight into the flames. Jean watched him go, watched the last of him escape his vision, unable to do anything other than let the tears flow freely down his face. His mom was holding Jean tightly, whispering quiet hopes that the three of them would make it back out safely. The firemen hadn’t arrived yet, but the sound of their incoming sirens continued to scream in his small ears.

A loud, sudden explosion came from inside and scared Jean to death. Stephanie screamed and shielded Jean from heat and projectiles that flew at them. A horrified gasp left her mouth, yet she continued to look for signs of her husband, her child, and their pet. Jean couldn’t bring himself to watch any longer. He wasn’t old yet, but even he could tell that hope was dwindling for his dad and the rest. He clung onto his mom’s shirt, the tears beginning to burn his face in the same way he assumed the rest of his family was inside.

At last, a pair of fire trucks along with police cars sped around the corner and pulled up beside their house. They swiftly went to work in taming the flames with their water hoses. A couple of police men spoke with Jean and Stephanie to get a better understanding of the situation. Once they wrung them dry of details, the two of them talked with each other off to the side. But they were not out of Jean’s range of hearing.

“This fire needs to be stopped before it spreads to the other houses.”

“Leave that up to the fire men. Any ideas on what caused it so far?”

“Most likely a combination of dangerously high heat, and firework debris catching onto the house. The boy said he heard a loud booming sound that woke him up, which supports the idea.

“These kinds of fires happen often, huh?”

“That’s right, you’re new to the team, aren’t you? Yeah, unfortunately we get calls like this a lot this time of year. The fire department has a few of them going in after the one who went inside, but I don’t have hopes on his survival.”

Jean covered his ears with trembling hands to try and block out their words.

“He’s been absent a long while, and even an explosion came from the house.”

“The man was a painter of every kind. Wall paints are extremely flammable.”

“Poor kid…”

He wished they would stop talking.

“At least he has his mother with him. But to lose someone so early on, that’s _got_ to be traumatizing.”

He really…

“If he hadn’t jumped into the fire so brashly, would he have survived?”

“It’s almost certain he would have. Some people think they can be heroes and save everyone, and I _suppose_ his cause was just.”

“But he only caused the survivors more pain in the end.”

_…really…_

“Yes, he did. When we identify the bodies, we’ll be sure to let them know.”

“ _If_ we identify the bodies, that is _._ They might be charred beyond recognition.”

“Don’t underestimate us. With the size difference and skeletal structure, we should be able to tell them apart easily.”

…Wished they would stop talking.

\--------------------------------------------

The funeral wasn’t a large one; it was just big enough for the amount of people that showed up. Jean mostly kept to himself and tried not to choke on the endless condolences shoved down his throat. “I’m so sorry” and “We wish you the best” and “Let us know if there is anything we can do” repeated like a broken record from faces he barely recognized. Meanwhile Jean’s mom accepted their wishful thinking in the handfuls while she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

A smiling picture of his dad and his baby sister were framed and propped up on a coffin that held no purpose other than to decorate the table. Even a small photo of Milkshake was displayed, and before Jean could choke up he quickly flicked his gaze towards the vibrant flowers. They surrounded the empty coffin, showing with every single one just how many people would miss his father and his sister now that they weren’t in this world anymore.

He slipped in three small, yellow flowers he’d plucked from the grass earlier, and took his seat up front.

People wandered to the pews and sat down when the funeral was about to start. A man he vaguely recognized to be his uncle stood up in front of a podium and began his speech. Sniffling was heard throughout the room, though for Stephanie it was more frantic hiccupping.

Jean’s face was contorted with misery as he sniffled repeatedly and tears fell silently.  He refrained from speaking a word to anyone. He didn’t have anything to say to his relatives, and he honestly felt too melancholy to even try to force something out.

When the time came for his mom to give a few words, she could only get so far before her sentences became a blubbering mess. She was quietly escorted off of the podium, leaving behind a solemn mood all around the room as people spoke in hushed tones.

At the end of the service, most people left with a final apology for their losses. Cars evacuated the lot, the casket and photos were taken down, and soon Jean and his mother were honestly, _truly_ , alone.

\--------------------------------------------

Afterwards the two of them had to find a new home to replace their old burned one. Jean had no idea why his mom wanted to stay in the same town she lost everything in, but he wasn’t about to argue.

Stephanie signed him up for elementary school in a completely new building. He was going into 1st grade, but he felt eons older with the losses he’d gone through. It was better this way though; less people would know about his past.

Settling into their home gave his mom plenty of time to spiral into a deep depression. She refused to call it what it was, but Jean wasn’t stupid. She sat in her room, staring at the empty air as if she could pull her family back from it. Rarely would she bring herself to shower since she had no reason to leave the house anymore; her work had given her time off to grieve. When she wasn’t crying into her hands, she had this numb look about her that hurt Jean’s heart to see.

She hardly made him dinner anymore, so he had only himself to rely on if he wanted to eat. Often the nights would end with a bowl of Mac n’ cheese, which wasn’t the _healthiest_ of meals, but it was the most he could manage at his age.

On a particularly bad day, his mom decided to resort to alcohol to drown out her worries. Instead, it made her voice them aloud, and at him nonetheless.

“Why did he have to die?” she mourned, clutching the bottle of whatever she decided that night like it was her lifeline.

All he could was rub circles into her back and tell her she was going to be okay, even though she looked far from it. _Jean_ was supposed to be the dependent one, the one being comforted in the middle of the night when he had nightmares about melting bodies coming back, demanding to know why he left them to burn.

No, on these nights he had to suffice with quaking in his sheets, gripping his pillow and quietly letting the tears roll down his cheeks. The remnants of the dream would cling to his ears and the backs of his eyes, refusing to leave him alone even when he was awake.

.

..

...

 _The drinking wasn’t going to be a one-time thing_ , he realized one day as he watched his mom come home from work. She had to go back eventually if they wanted to keep the house and keep up her “habit” after all.

If anything, her drinking had gotten worse. Right when she got home her first thought wasn’t saying hello to her son but to her bottle of whiskey. It wouldn’t be a stretch to call her an alcoholic. Her face would be flush with either tears, alcohol, or both, and she would tell Jean how much she missed the rest of his family. Every time he heard her mention them it _hurt,_ like a constant scratching at his abused heart.

She was giving more attention to the deceased than to her own _son_.

When she inevitably passed out on the couch, he had to cover her with a blanket and place a glass of water and Ibuprofen on the table nearby. He would put away the alcohol, clean up whatever mess she made, and make sure she didn’t choke on her own vomit in the middle of the night.

Hangovers the next morning were something he assumed his mom got used to at this point. She would get up, take the medicine he left out, and chug the water like she had been without it for days. The sound of her pounding up the stairs to stumble into a shower always woke him up, but he didn’t let her know that.

Work. Drink. Pass out. Hangover. Work.

Lather, rinse, repeat. This was how all her days went without fail and Jean could do nothing but watch as she slowly destroyed herself…

Until one night she began destroying something _other_ than her body.

Instead of just sobbing into her empty glass, her behavior gradually changed. It started out subtly in the fall when school had finally started up, and he mentioned how glad he was to be surrounded by people his age again. He even thought he could make friends at this new school, which brightened his mood significantly.

This didn’t go unnoticed by Stephanie. Jean thrived on attention, and they were giving it to him where his mother was lacking.

Little comments were thrown here and there, telling him that he couldn’t trust anyone around him. They were all after his family’s money she said. She may have been a single parent, but her job fortunately provided enough for the both of them. People were going to use him she said, dry him up for all he’s worth until there was nothing left. They weren’t going to be _true_ friends.

She told him if he wanted to stay safe from those bad people he should sit down, stay quiet, and keep to himself. That was the only way to keep from getting hurt. Jean was upset by her assumptions of his potential friends, but more than anything he so desperately wanted to please his mom. He would do anything to make her happier again, to bring her back from the pit she was rotting in.

Even sacrifice his own happiness for hers.

So that’s just what he did. He shut himself out from everyone, pushing away the people who were trying to get close. At first they questioned why he was ignoring them, or why he didn’t play with them at recess anymore. But soon enough they gave up on him and found a new friend to joke around with.

They even began making fun of him, sarcastically calling him “The Great Jean Kirschtein”, and claiming he thought he was better than everyone else. They said no one was worth his time, so he just ignored them like the “peasants” they were. The rumors spread quickly, and soon everyone pretended he didn’t exist.

 _Better than everyone trying to talk to him and deceive him_.

Rarely did he speak up in class, and if he did it wasn’t done voluntarily. He had withdrawn himself from the classroom, and though the teacher was clearly unhappy with it there was nothing she could figure to do.

Days passed on like this; his mom confirming his worries about others intentions through slurred words and a scarlet face. Farther and farther he pulled himself from the students, and soon his mother had built a carefully constructed wall around him.

He could never see the smile she hid behind her whiskey glass.

\--------------------------------------------

A few years had gone by. Since then Jean’s face had begun to lose its charming pudginess and be replaced with an all around lankiness. His mother’s words had made him void of any positive emotion. He rarely smiled; instead a scowl donned his face like armor, scaring away potential friends with just a glare.

That is, except for two bizarre children.

It was the first day of 5th grade, and the teacher was gesturing to two students standing in front of the class.

“Alright everyone, please listen up. We’ve got a couple of students new to the area, Connie Springer,” the small boy waved at the class. “and Sasha Braus.” She smiled at everybody, a visible gap in her front teeth. “I hope you’ll all try to become good friends with them.”

Jean looked at them and sighed quietly. _Great, more people to ignore._

He leaned his head into his palm and looked everywhere except at the new kids. But his attention was snared when he heard his name come from his traitorous teacher’s mouth.

“There are two empty seats on either side of Jean. Go ahead and pick one.”

Eyes widening momentarily, he turned to the two soon-to-be-filled seats next to him and felt both cold panic and hot anger flash through his body. His teacher sounded relieved to have a way to get Jean to socialize. In the break room the teachers often talked about him and how to get him to be more involved. In return he gave him a fierce glare he had fine-tuned over the years. He didn’t seem too threatened by a 10 year old, but he was startled by the look nevertheless.

Two bodies plopped down next to Jean, and he mentally prepared himself to ignore them for the rest of the year.

“Your hair is so cool and spiky! How did’jya do that?” Connie asked, taking Jean by surprise.

_Starting off with a compliment? Weirdo._

When he didn’t answer his question, the short haired kid leaned backwards and called to the other one. “Your name’s Sasha, right? Look at his hair!”

Sasha looked over at Jean’s head, and gasped when she got a load of his dark brown hair. They were making fun of him, just like he knew they would. But soon he caved under the pressure of being stared at and glared to get her to look away.

But she did the exact opposite; she gaped at him, awestruck. His eye twitched at the unwanted attention. _What was she staring at?_

A wide smile spread across her face, and she smacked her thin hands against her cheeks. “Your eyes!”

Whatever response he was expecting, that certainly wasn’t it. Once again, he was taken by surprise. _What was with these people?_

“What?” he demanded, and began sweating from being stared at for so long. He was used to people ignoring him, knowing it was a moot point in trying to engage conversation. But the two of them just seemed persistent, like ants that continued to invade your house no matter how much repellent you sprayed.

“They’re so pretty! Like a dragon’s eyes!” she grinned.

Jean’s face flushed a deep red, and he looked away from her quickly. He wasn’t sure how to take the strange compliment, and the gap in her teeth kind of grossed him out. Yeah, that was why he could feel all his body heat leaving through his cheeks. Nothing else.

In an attempt to escape any more torment from these two, he pulled up his hood and lay on his desk, hiding his face in his arms. It seemed to work for now, and he closed his eyes while blocking out the world around him…

Unfortunately his freedom didn’t last long; recess sneaked up on him terrifyingly fast. And just like he had feared, the two new students had immediately turned their attention to him.

“So your name’s Jean, right?” Connie confirmed. Students scrambled from their seats and to the outdoors until the three of them were the only ones left in the room, aside from the teacher.

He ignored them in favor of pulling out a few sheets of printer paper and pencils. All he had to do was not talk to them. It _should_ be easy; he’s had years of practice, and what were two more menaces to deal with?

Rolling the pencil in his hand he scratched out a few lines, not quite sure where he was going with his drawing but determined to follow through with it. Recently while his mom was unconscious, he would use the family computer to look up drawing tutorials on YouTube. He wasn’t good at it yet, but he quickly figured out that art was something he enjoyed similarly to his father.

He tried showing his mom his drawings once, but she’d dismissed them with a bored “That’s nice, sweetie” without looking at what he’d made. It hurt him when she ignored him so blatantly, but he thought maybe he was hurting his mom with his drawings.

Maybe it reminded her of Dad.

“Why does it only have one eye?” Sasha asked, pointing a Dorito-stained finger and smudging his pencil marks.

Jean pulled back the paper and glared at the obnoxious girl. “It isn’t done.”

Connie leaned down next to him, and Jean cringed at how close he was. “You’re gonna draw all recess?”

He didn’t try to humor them with a response.

“Come outside and play with us instead!” she offered regardless. She also tossed another handful of Doritos into her mouth.

Unhappy with their persistence, he got up and moved to a different area so he could draw in peace. He was glad to see they weren’t following him, and had instead left to go outside. _Good. Leave like everyone else. Don’t bother me._

Picking his abandoned pencil back up, he resumed his drawing of a sad boy on a swing. A pink sliver of tongue stuck out when Jean focused on making a particular line perfect, and his thick eyebrows would furrow in concentration when he had to erase too many times. Sketching lightly wasn’t something he could do quite yet, so all his heavy marking showed despite how many times he tried to get rid of them. Still, he continued to try.

Drawing was a good distraction from the two, and soon enough the familiar bell rung announcing the end of recess. He packed up his things and returned to his seat, silently hoping that Thing 1 and Thing 2 would leave him alone.

To his pleasant surprise, they did. Connie and Sasha were walking back to their desks, laughing with each other the entire way. It looked like they found each other better company than he, and Jean was grateful for it.

Or at least he thought he was.

His mind replayed their first words to him; their strange comments about his spiky hair and his “dragon eyes”. Jean just didn’t understand why those two were trying to get him to talk with them so badly. He wasn’t interesting, he was mean, and he _knew_ their true intentions. It was just like his mom had warned; they were after his money, would just use him, and were liars.

So he did what she always told him to do and sat down and kept quiet.

Though he still self-consciously pat down his hair and avoided any eye contact.

.

..

...

It had been weeks since their first encounter, and Jean was about ready to _lose his_ _mind_. To his dismay, Connie and Sasha had gone right back to trying to talk to him the very next day. Of course he ignored them, but that could only work for so long.

They became the class clowns; an inseparable duo that interrupted class to compliment the teacher, or by raising their hands just to say they were pointing at the ceiling, or even by addressing the teacher as “Your Honor”. It made everyone else in the class laugh, but it was slowly driving Jean _insane._

Every day at recess they would try to get him to play with them, and he refused every single time. Jean was perfectly content with drawing alone, thank you very much.

His strategy couldn’t work forever, and eventually they decided to try to bring the fun to him. Connie’s plastic Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack always held a new thing for them to do. He had Pokémon cards, Yugioh cards, regular cards, even a Game Boy that was barely hanging on to its battery life. Sasha had even tried sharing her prized snacks with him. Again and again they tried, and every time he would rudely decline.

The most infuriating part of it all? It was becoming increasingly hard to say no. A part of him actually _wanted_ to join in, wanted to stop being so alone all the fricking time.

How much longer could they bother him? How often did he have to ignore them until they got the hint? This wasn’t good, this _really_ wasn’t good if he wanted to play with them. They would just disappoint him, and he didn’t want to go through that kind of pain.

So one day at recess, he decided to make his feelings known. He slammed down his pencil, stood up from his desk, and gave his best glare at the two of them. It effectively caught their attention.

“ _Look._ I know what you two are trying to do, and I’m _not_ going to fall for your _crap!_ ” Both of them looked startled at his accusation, but he continued on. “You guys interrupt the class with your _stupid_ jokes and your _stupid_ games and your _stupid_ lies! I have been ignoring your guys’ harassment since _day one,_ and what do I get?” Connie tried to answer, but he cut him off before he could. “I get you _idiots_ breathing down my neck like you have nothing better to do! Why can’t you take a hint and BACK OFF already?! _What do you WANT from me!?”_ he shouted, face flushed with anger. His hands were trembling, and he had drawn the attention of his teacher.

Both of them sat in silence, eyes wide at everything that had just been thrown at them. The adult tried to intervene before he could say any more, but stopped when Sasha spoke up.

“Well, I mean…I really like dragons, and your eyes look like a dragon’s—“

“WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH _ANYTHING?!_ ” Jean screamed, yet Sasha didn’t blink.

“—so I was going to try to like you too.”

Jean flinched like he had actually been struck by someone. He stepped back, and his eyes widened in surprise. _Try to…like me?_

It was Connie’s turn to speak up. “Sash and I had been talking, and we decided we really wanted to be your friend.”

Jean couldn’t let them get into his head like this. “You’re _lying._ ” he accused.

“Why would we lie?” they asked at the same time.

He couldn’t think of a proper response, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. Why would they lie…? Because why _wouldn’t_ they? Because his mom told him not to trust anyone? Because _nothing_ good _ever_ happened to him?

“We wanted to be your friend,” Sasha began, showing him her signature toothless smile. This time he couldn’t find it in himself to call it gross. “Because we thought you could really use one.”

When he heard those words, hot tears swam in his eyes. They actually…wanted to befriend him? When all he’d done was be mean and ignore them? Jean didn’t understand. He _really_ didn’t understand what went on in those thick skulls of theirs. In the pit of his stomach, hot anger swirled around next to a strange feeling of…relief.

Relief from finally allowing himself to have a friend or two.

He scrubbed furiously at his eyes in an attempt to keep himself together, but he couldn’t stop the hiccuping cries that escaped him. Soon they broke free from their prisons and escaped down his cheeks.

Jean kept his arm over his eyes in an attempt to retain some dignity. Both of them pressed a small, comforting hand on Jean’s back, the action only making him cry harder. He didn’t even hear the ringing of the bell signaling the end of recess. Students filed in ready to start their next lesson, and stared in shock at the spectacle in front of them.

Jean Kirschtein, “The _Great_ Jean Kirschtein”, the kid who never talked to anyone and always looked pissed off at the world, was crying in the middle of the classroom.

Noticing their predicament, Sasha and Connie frantically tried to get him to cheer up by making funny faces at him. They were sticking their tongues out and squishing their faces, but he couldn’t stop himself. He felt embarrassment bubble up inside of him at being caught crying, and he could do nothing to stop the tears. It was the sound of wet sniffling from Jean that finally snapped the teacher out of his frozen state.

“A-Alright everyone! Get to your seats! Nothing to see here!” the teacher announced, ushering everyone to their desks. Heads still turned to try and watch, but soon enough everyone was in their seat and paying attention to the front.

Jean gave a few last hiccuping sniffles before sitting back in his seat, keeping his eyes down. He concentrated on his breathing for the time being.

But instead of his usual scowl, a small smile graced his face when he thought about the people sitting next to him.

\--------------------------------------------

Connie and Sasha turned out to be really good friends for him. They would hang out during recess, talk during class, and laugh with each other at lunch until their stomachs hurt. He learned a lot more about the two of them, for instance Sasha was _really_ bad at drawing. Connie was also deemed unbeatable in any game they played, but it didn’t stop Jean from trying. He also figured out that Sasha was from the country side, and hid her southern accent when she spoke because it was “embarrassing”. It showed up when she got angry though, and Jean always made sure to make note of what it sounded like.

Jean had even worked up the courage to tell Connie and Sasha about his father, sister, and dog. He didn’t specify how, and it was extremely hard for him to get out, but once he did they gave him comforting words that didn’t feel anything like the obligatory pity from his relatives.

Not a school day went by when the three of them didn’t hang out with one another, and the teacher seemed to be overjoyed. In class Jean smiled more, laughed more, and generally kept his head up during lessons. He still didn’t participate much in class, but it was a large improvement compared to before.

His mom seemed to notice the change too.

Jean was stationed at the stove, making his nutrition-deprived dinner for the night; Top Ramen. He knew he needed to learn how to cook healthier meals for himself. Absently he wondered if Sasha or Connie had to make their own dinners, and if they could help him out with some ideas.

“You look to be in a good mood.” She commented while refilling her glass with the amber liquid. Crossing her legs, she took a satisfied drink and let out a loud huff of air. She had been drinking for a while now, and showed no signs of stopping. Her face was more red than the dress she wore to work; a sign that she hadn’t even changed since she got home.

A small smile graced his face just at the mention of his two new friends. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Any reason?”

The question was innocent enough, but it made him break out into a cold sweat. After all these years of her convincing him that friends were a bad thing, that he couldn’t ever trust them…how would she react to him having some? He had to be careful with how he worded this.

“No, not really.” He shrugged, continuing to watch the water heat up.

Stephanie looked at him from over the top of her glass, her stare disturbingly clear. “Is that so?”

He swallowed thickly, fiddling with the bottom of his jacket. “Yeah, nothing’s been going on aside from the usu—“

“You’re lying.”

Jean’s eyes widened, and he inhaled sharply. Continuing to avoiding her stare, he watched the bubbles rise to the surface of the water as a distraction. It was easier to talk if he wasn’t looking at those sharp, amber eyes that matched his own.

He made sure to keep his voice even to hide any anxiety he was feeling. “No, I’m not.”

“You’re fucking _lying_ to me, Jean.” She growled, slamming down her glass on the table.

The loud sound caused him to flinch, and he cursed himself for showing his nervousness. Shoving his shaking hands into his pockets, he felt his body repeatedly grow hot and then flush cold. Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden? Was the room always this small?

“I—“ he tried, but she was having none of it.

“I am your _mother_.” Stephanie got up from her seat, unnervingly stable.

“I know—“

“You.” A step forward from her, a step backward from him.

“Y-yes?”

“Will NOT.” She roared, causing Jean to flinch and grab at the hot stove behind him for balance. He quickly pulled his hand away, shouts of pain rising up in his throat.

“ _Lie.”_ His hand stung immensely, but he kept quiet for fear of upsetting his mom any more than he already had.

 _“To_ **_me_**.” She whispered in a voice so quiet and feral that it practically dripped venom. She was extremely close to him, and he could smell the whiskey that clung to every part of her body. Stephanie reached out and grabbed his injured hand, her nails digging into his skin.

Instinct clawed at him from the inside telling him to get out of there fast, and he yanked his arm away before running upstairs to the safety of his room. He didn’t have a lock, but he did have a chair he could prop up against the door. He was also hoping that his mom would be too drunk to navigate the stairs.

Jean sat on his bed while his breath came in short puffs, and he felt terrifyingly cold from the inside out. His entire body was vibrating with adrenaline, and he so desperately wanted to control it. The room spun and felt immensely smaller than it was, and he knew he needed to get out before he suffocated to death. But that wasn’t an option, not with what was waiting on the other side of that door. Jean was confused, nervous, and afraid. Afraid of his own _Mom_.

He looked around the room, and tried to steady his breathing and come down from his panicked state. His eyes were constantly shifting from the door to his blurry, injured hands. Only now did he notice his burns and the scrapes and dents her nails had left on him. His cheeks were slick with tears, his body was cold with sweat, and his vision refused to stay still. _Calm down, calm down. You’re fine, Jean. You’re fine…_

Why had Mom reacted so badly? He knew lying was wrong, but…this was a whole new level of anger. Never before had his mom become so… _furious_ when drinking, and now that it’s happened he really didn’t want to see it again.

His tears landed on his palm, and he winced while letting out a hiss of pain. A blistering red mark decorated his hand, and Jean turn it over to let it rest on his cool, wrinkled sheets. That wasn’t going to just fade overnight, and he dreaded the questions that were sure to come the next day.

At that moment, Jean came to the painful realization that he couldn’t tell her about his friends. Not ever. They had to stay a secret, and that hurt him more than any mark she left on his body.

Curling up into his blankets, he closed his eyes and tried to make himself as small as possible. Jean tried to convince himself that his mom didn’t mean to freak out. She didn’t mean to speak so harshly; she didn’t mean to terrify him and drive him into whatever this emotional state was.

She didn’t mean to…

…right?

.

..

...

The next day, Jean had become reserved once again. Gone was the boy who laughed in class with his friends and back was the kid who sat down, stayed quiet, and kept to himself. His grades began slipping, and teachers gave him that pitiful look once more that he despised.

Connie and Sasha noticed his change right away. But when they confronted him about it, all he did was give a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and say, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Neither of them believed him for a second. Connie had seen Jean laugh so hard that milk shot out his nose, and he even tried to pass on his artistic wisdom on to Sasha. This wasn’t the person they had gotten to know; this was the boy from the beginning of the year who scowled as if the world had done him a huge wrong. And it had, though they didn’t need to know that.

Yet at the same time they knew from experience that prodding him wouldn’t get them any real answers. So the two of them worriedly watched him from the sidelines, hoping that whatever was wrong would pass by soon.

\--------------------------------------------

To Jean, middle school went by painfully slow. Three long years of getting into fights with kids at school, of bloody noses and split lips covering his face every single day. The principal’s office quickly became a scene he was familiar with. His gleaming, prematurely bald head was an image that would forever be burned into his retinas.

When he came home, he was always greeted by the caring, shrill voice of his mother. Some of the _lovely_ comments she screeched at him included “Get your damn act together” and “You can’t do anything without violence, can you” and his personal favorite, “What kind of girl would love someone as aggressive and terrible as you?”

At this point in time he was used to the insults she threw. But as they grew more personal day by day, he couldn’t help letting them get to him when night barred its unforgiving fangs. His mind made sure he didn’t forget a word she slurred over the top of her whiskey glass.

A few more toxic years flashed by, and before he knew it Jean was in the middle of his junior year in high school. Since entering high school he had changed to an undercut, and bleached the top of his brown locks an ashen blond. His mom made sure to voice her disgust about it the day he came home.

Jean’s lanky frame had filled out thanks to joining the school baseball team and his dad’s genetics. Stephanie’s attitude toward her son became more rancorous when she noticed just how much he was starting to look like her departed husband. Everything about him from his height, to his unique laugh, down to his very facial structure reminded her of him. And it broke her in a way that warped her view of her son.

She would mix up Jacques’ and Jean’s name often, and on those nights she would drink more than her usual stomach churning amount. Stephanie would cry, and Jean always ended up with a stinging, red cheek before going up to his room.

Often she tried to apologize for her “small outbursts” as she called it, with nice things. She would provide him with a car and a decent cell phone, but the next day she was always back at it again.

Her actions on top of having to keep up his grades to stay on the baseball team pushed a lot of unwanted stress onto him. More often than not he was fighting back tears as he sat upstairs, the light of his desk lamp the only thing illuminating his room. He had to force himself to do the unbelievable workload the school demanded of him right after his mom had spat out bitter insults at him, or he would get kicked off of the team.

And he ended up taking all that stress out in unhealthy ways.

Jean understood why his mom drank now—it helped him think about nothing but the alcohol in his body. He felt warm, content, and unafraid of anything thrown his way. The only times he could drink was on the weekends, when it wouldn’t affect practice and he wouldn’t get caught by the school. Funny, how even now his school life is the first thing he worried about.

But with the excessive drinking came the negative side effects. Jean would get frustrated terrifyingly easily, with the smallest thing setting him off like a firework. He yelled at his two friends, even when he didn’t have a drink in his hand. The first time it happened, Connie and Sasha looked _genuinely_ afraid of him. His best friends had the same exact look he had when _his_ mom yelled at him.

When he realized what he was doing was exactly like his mom, he felt physically sick. Jean didn’t want to and couldn’t let her shape him into the same kind of person she was. But most of all he couldn’t let his problems at home affect his friends; they deserved better than that.

So he got together with his two friends and asked them for help on managing his anger. It wasn’t easy to admit, but he couldn’t do this on his own. They gave a few helpful tips, such as leaving the room when something became too much, taking deep and controlled breaths, or even counting to 10 forwards and backwards.

He didn’t want his anger to control him. Not like it controlled her.

Every day he would come home from practice, and every day he would find his mom already home and already drinking. Immediately she would look for an excuse to criticize him, not even allowing a break to set down his backpack.

“You’re late.”

“Practice ran late today, sorry.”

“Liar.” She spat out.

Jean didn’t reply. He knew better at this point; just let it bounce off his forcibly thickened skin.

“I bet you just wanted to get away from me.”

_Could you blame me?_

He walked upstairs, bringing his backpack to his room and locking himself in for the rest of the night as was custom. Jean rarely ate dinner anymore; whenever he went down to make something she would torment him and spit out insults that ruined his appetite. His room was his safe haven; Stephanie never bothered him in here, she simply sat downstairs and either grumbled to herself or wept into the sofa.

That was what was _supposed_ to happen.

Jean had been practicing drawing various poses with a sketch book he bought with his own money. Just like when he was young, art continued to bring a calmness about him that distracted him like no other. All he needed was his paper and the soothing sound of scratching pencils filling the air. And, it was much healthier to scribble out his feelings than drown them in alcohol. A small smile always drifted to his face when he sketched trees, buildings, and the familiar shapes of torsos, arms, and legs.

**_Knock Knock Knock._ **

“Jean? I’m coming in.”

The pencil dropped from his limp grip and clattered on the page. Looking to the door, he fearfully noticed he’d forgotten to prop up his chair against it. _Why did he forget? What is she doing here? Did he do something wrong again? Why didn’t he just prop up his fucking chair?_

Like a deer caught in headlights, Jean couldn’t get up to block his door or hide the sketchbook in his lap. Instead, he watched as the curvy frame of his mother filed into the room.

_Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck._

Her cheeks were red as usual, and she had a disturbingly blank look on her face.

Until her eyes landed on what was in his lap.

She didn’t say anything at first, just quietly stared, almost as if she was zoning out.

Then, her entire body bristled. “What is that.”

He finally snapped out of his fearful state, and he quickly moved to sit on his sketchbook. “Nothing.”

“Bullshit it’s _nothing._ ” Jean cringed, and inwardly punched himself for lying to his mom. That never went down well in the past, so why did he think it would work now?

“Is that a fucking sketchbook?” she glared, and he bit his tongue to keep from lying to her again.

“ _Answer me.”_ Stephanie glowered, now stomping into his room and looking extremely hostile. Jean flinched on instinct and tried to make himself as small as possible.

“Y-Yes…” he whispered, but she had heard him loud and clear.

And she was _livid._

She grabbed the sketchbook from underneath him, and aggressively looked through all his drawings. Every flip of the page felt like a piece of him that was being forcibly searched and violated. All the feeling he’d poured into those drawings, every line and smudge, was being revealed right in front of him.

The sketchbook was in reach, but he couldn’t stop shaking long enough to grab it from her. Jean may have grown larger but he was still just as afraid of her as he was all those years ago. She knew just how to tear his heart apart and manipulate him into the shape she desired.

And this book clearly broke the mold she was trying to force him into.

“…Who do you think you are.” She growled as her voice trembled. Jean heard the pages quaking as well.

When he didn’t answer, she hit him with the sketchbook repeatedly. “ _WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?”_ she bellowed. “Do you think you’re Jacques, now? Is _that_ it? _Huh, Jean?!”_

She hit him several more times with the book before ripping out every single page in front of him. They fluttered to the ground, and Jean felt familiar tears prick at his eyes. Meanwhile, Stephanie looked to be torn between feeling giddy at her work and feeling furious that he created it in the first place.

Tackling her son, they both went tumbling down and Jean hit his head on the hard floor. Stephanie sat on top of him, punching at his stomach and scratching at his face before screaming at him again. Every word was punctuated with another attack.

“ _Why_. Do you _have_. To _look. Like **. Him!** ”_

Jean could say nothing as he wheezed in pain, nausea building up in his stomach. He coughed up a splatter of blood.

“ _Why_ did you have to _TAKE HIM AWAY FROM ME!”_

He pulled his arms up to his face to shield it, allowing them to take the brunt of the force. When she saw it wasn’t damaging him as much as she’d liked, she moved on to grabbing him around the neck.

Fear flashed through his eyes and he moved to pull away her hands, but she was surprisingly strong. And despite all the shit she’s put him through, all the fucked up things she’s said, he couldn’t find it in himself to hurt her in any way.

Jean struggled for breath, and could feel pressure building in his face. Everything was hot, _why was he so hot?_ He could feel his windpipe bending underneath her perfectly manicured grip, and felt the dents that they would surely leave as usual. This torture could have gone on for a few seconds or an eternity and he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. His vision began to be blocked by black spots, true panic kicking in as he wiggled underneath her to free his throat of her grip.

But she loosened it herself, though she still leaned heavily on his body. Jean coughed and gasped for breath, the pain in his throat immense and the rush of oxygen to his head dizzying.

“Why…” she sniffled, and clenched her fists into his shirt weakly. Jean shook like a leaf, his ears ringing, but he still managed to hear her next words.

“Why did you have to live instead of him…?”

The words stabbed at his heart, though that could be the after effects of the beating he just received. This was the first time it had gone to this extent. He felt numb, and yet his entire body burned and screamed at him.

Part of him thought he deserved it. The beating, the screaming, the hatred; all of it. Because he was the one who lived, because he mentioned the missing family members, because he looked like his dad, because he liked to draw.

It was all Jean’s fault.

The way his mom treated him all these years, her actions were just. She was just trying to cope with their death…

His mom had passed out on top of him, a scowl still on her face and tears smearing her makeup. He couldn’t move her, not in the state he was in. Jean was honestly surprised he wasn’t unconscious, though he was in an incredible amount of pain. Jean slowly and carefully stood up, using his desk for balance, and packed some clothes into his backpack. He even eased on a jacket onto his body. Hauling his bag over his shoulder and letting out a loud hiss of pain, he grabbed his phone and left the house.

The combination of winter and nighttime bit at his face, yet he determinedly trudged to his destination. Pulling out his phone, he opened his friend’s contact and dialed the number.

He _really_ hoped he picked up his phone.

A click sounded on the other line, and he heard a tired “H’llo…?”

Jean smiled and let out a sigh of relief that nearly came out as a cry.  “Connie?”

“Jean? What’re you doing up so…” He yawned loudly into the phone. “…late? ‘ts like, two in the morning.”

Slowly walking down the street, he passed by houses that were fast asleep by now. “I’m coming over. C-Can you open the door when I get there…please?”

He heard the rustling of sheets, and Connie sounded more awake and serious now. “What happened?”

Jean stayed silent on his end, for fear of breaking down in the middle of the sidewalk if he explained it now. No doubt he was going to have questions for him later, but for now…he had to keep going. He was just a few blocks away. A few more blocks, and he would be safe.

In all honesty he had no idea how he made it up their front porch without passing out. But he managed, and had not hung up on Connie despite not answering his first question.

“…I’m—“

The door swung open quickly, and Jean flinched out of instinct again. He really, really wished that wasn’t his first reaction to loud or sudden movement, but _she_ had etched it into him.

On the other side of the brown door was a short, buzz-cut man clad in boxers and a tank top, with worry written all over his face. Without thinking, he rushed him and hugged him as tight as possible.

“—here.” He choked out, wincing in pain. Connie noticed his discomfort and backed away before inviting him inside.

Jean had been to the Springer household on numerous occasions, but this time it had a heavier feeling to it. The lights were off, his parents were sleeping upstairs, and everything in the house seemed to be still. Quite the contrast from a place so full of livelihood in the daytime, what with two younger siblings stomping around the house.

Connie took his backpack from him and tossed him a blanket, which he was very grateful for. He slowly eased down onto the couch, wrapping it around his shoulders. The short man didn’t sit next to him, and instead moved to the kitchen. He heard the sound of various clashing dishes, and he sat wondering what he was trying to do.

Jean heard the front door open, and he quickly turned his head to the sudden sound. _Who’s there…?_

To his confusion and pleasant surprise, Sasha was poking her head behind the door, her long brown ponytail swishing behind her head. She too was in pajamas and slippers, and her car keys hung loosely around her lanyard. Sasha stared at Jean with wide eyes and covered her mouth.

“Why are you—“ he began.

“Oh, _Jean!”_ she cried, and ran over to bring him in a worried embrace.

Fortunately, Connie saved him by coming into the room with three mugs in his hands. “Sash, stop! He’s hurt, and you’ll wake up my family if you’re stomping around like an elephant.”

She halted mid-pounce, and quietly composed herself. Closing the front door and taking a seat, Sasha gingerly sat down next to Jean and took a cup for herself.

Connie offered one to him, and he gratefully accepted it. _Hot chocolate, huh._ It was warm in his hands, and the tiny marshmallows on top of the whipped cream were a nice touch.

The drink warmed him up from the inside, though it stung his split lip and hurt when it passed by his throat. Memories of what happened minutes ago flashed in his mind, of his mom looking giddy and miserable and _wrathful_ , and his eyes widened as he covered his mouth.

“Jean…?” Sasha tried, taking the drink from his hands and placing it safely on the coffee table.

He shook in place despite being covered by a blanket, and felt nausea building up in his stomach just at the thought of _her_.

“Please…tell us what happened, Jean. We’re worried.”

Just the sound of their genuine concern was enough to let his tears finally spill over his cheeks. He couldn’t stop himself, even if he tried. Jean sobbed as quietly as he could, and felt it wrack his entire beaten, bloody, bruised body.

And he told them _everything_.

About how his dad _really_ passed, about the nightmares, the manipulation, the emotional abuse, the physical abuse, the sketchbook incident, what she’d said to him day after agonizing day. _Everything._

Both of them listened intently and ushered closer to him. “Is it—I mean, can we…can we give you a hug?” Connie tested.

After he gave a tearful and messy nod, two pairs of arms were wrapped around him, mindful of his fresh wounds. They whispered sweet reassurances to him, and let Jean cry as hard as he needed to. He deserved it, considering all he’d been through tonight, let alone the past 10 years.

“It’s okay, Jean.”

“We’re here for you.”

“You’re safe now.”

“We’re so sorry we didn’t know about this earlier.”

Sasha kissed Jean’s forehead as gently as she could, and Connie did the same. They had to let Jean recover, and they were going to stick by him the entire way. All three of their hot chocolates had gone cold by now, but the more pressing issue was how he was going to survive another year and a half in that household with _her_. They would figure it out, though. They _had_ to.

They wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let Jean get hurt like this again.

.

..

...

Jean hadn’t realized it, but he had passed out after crying his heart out last night. His, well, _everything_ hurt, and when he looked at his surroundings he noticed a few things.

One, there were people sleeping next to him. Upon closer inspection, it was his _friends_ that clung to him as he lay on the futon.

Two, it looked way too bright outside for it to be 6:00 AM. Was he late for school or something?

And Three, he realized that this wasn’t his room. No, this wasn’t even his _house_. Everything in here was familiar, at least. The futon, the walls, the older man standing in the hallway—

He’d hoped he could block out memories of last night for a little longer, but as he learned long ago this world is a cruel place. It will chew you up, spit you out, and expect you to be back on your feet as soon as you land face down in the concrete.

Jean closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths in an attempt to keep his panic underway.

“Good morning, Jean.” Mr. Springer greeted. He was wearing the apron he always wore when he cooked, and twirled a pan in his grip. “Want some breakfast?”

 _He must not be able to see my face._ Jean cleared his throat and carefully tried to speak. “Yes, please.” It still came out hoarsely.

 _Speaking of_ _my face_ …Jean wriggled free from the limbs splayed across him and wandered to a bathroom. _What does it look like?_

When he flicked on the light, what he saw made him cringe. He had dried blood on his nose, a split lip, and upon closer inspection scratch marks up and down his arms. Tilting his head upward, he saw the beginnings of bruises on his throat and neck.

Jean quickly looked away as more painful memories resurfaced.

Deciding he at least had to clean himself up, he searched for the health kit hidden he knew was hidden in here. Carefully he washed all the blood off, and once he had he looked and felt slightly more presentable.

He wasn’t done inspecting himself, though. Lifting up his shirt, he noted the bruises that were left on his sides from her relentless punching.

Most of these were easy enough to cover up, but the ones on his neck…those would be a little trickier.

Walking back and digging through his backpack, he looked around until he found a long blue scarf, just begging to be worn. It wouldn’t be weird to wear it this time of year, and he silently thanked himself for packing it. He really didn’t want to go back to that house if he didn’t have to.

The smell of bacon cooking is what finally woke up the other two, and Sasha was on her feet in an instant. She chanted “bacon” over and over, her enthusiasm making Mr. Springer laugh.

Connie got up considerably more slowly, and walked over to check on Jean first. “How’re you doing?”

“Honestly? I feel like shit.” He chuckled humorlessly.

The short man laughed lightly at the brute honesty. He gently clapped a hand on Jean’s shoulder. “Figures. Listen…you know you have us, yeah? Me and Sash. So when you’re feeling especially shitty or you just need a friend or two to lean on, you know where to find us.”

Jean smiled warmly at one of his closest friends. He didn’t plan on keeping things from them any longer.

He hobbled into the kitchen towards the delicious food while wrapping the scarf more snugly around his neck. Jean looked over his shoulder at Connie. “Yeah, I know. Thank you guys, so much. You have no idea…no idea how much it means to me.”

His response was a wide grin that stretched from ear to ear before he marched into the kitchen as well. “Pops! What’s for breakfast?”

Mr. Springer mentioned making hash-browns and bacon, making Sasha whoop loudly in excitement. Looking over to the clock on the stove, he noticed the time read 10:04 AM. He knew it was for the best; today was the first true day he had to recover from his mom’s…abuse.

It was strange, finally calling it what it was. His own mother had emotionally, verbally, and physically abused him for a large portion of his life. He grew up thinking it was normal to be called worthless every day, or to distrust people just because he was told to, or to go to his room with a sore face and a growling stomach. But this domestic feeling his friends showed him, full of love, safety, and real family and friends...

This was what it was _supposed_ to be like. This kind of affection was what he craved more than anything in the world.

 

And Connie and Sasha were going to make sure he knew he deserved it all.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! New chapter here, and i'm sorry it's so long and took so long for me to write. I dont know, do you guys like long chapters? But there is just so much i needed to show about Jean, things that explain his characteristics and his relationship with Connie and Sasha and stuff...  
> I know that Jean's mamma is a sweet lady in canon, but in here she's...not.  
> I'm so sorry that this isn't a happy chapter, you guys.
> 
> Also, the reason that this fic is no longer confirmed for 13 chapters is that I decided to change the ending. Please bare with me!
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	11. Guilt and Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marco fucked up. He knows he did, and it's eating him alive.  
> He just hopes Jean can forgive him.

The last thing Marco heard was the quiet sound of their front door closing.

But he was too focused on keeping himself together to hear Jean’s words before he had left the dorm. His breathing was ragged, his eyes were wide with anxiety, and he felt guilt wrack his body in waves causing him to physically lurch every time. Strangely enough he was  _smiling_ _,_ and he had no idea why. He wasn’t  _happy_ _,_ no, he was far from it. Tears slid down Marco’s face, showing no signs of stopping any time soon. They dripped and dipped into the wobbly curve of his mouth, and he pulled at the roots of his hair to make him feel anything,  _anything_  but this gut wrenching pain in his heart.

He fucked up.

Marco fucked up really,  _really_  bad.

And he wasn’t sure any amount of apologies could fix it.

_You’re a piece of shit friend, you know that?_

Even when he realized he was taking it too far, when he knew he was saying things too personal, too  _painful,_  he couldn’t stop himself from spitting the venom out. It was as if that ugly, spiteful green monster in his head had turned on an abandoned faucet inside of him. But now that it was on he couldn’t shut it back off when enough was enough. Like rushing water he had kept spewing out words he knew he didn’t mean, but couldn’t keep himself from saying.

Jealousy wanted Jean to feel the anguish he had felt inside for the past few weeks. It wanted to show him just how much his “selfish” actions had affected him, and to make him realize what he had done. It warped all of Jean’s harmless actions into the evilest of deeds that only screaming and accusations could fix.

Despite all of his mind’s demands Marco knew that was the  _last_ thing he truly wanted for his friend. Jealousy and Anger; two emotions that in controlled amounts are actually perfectly normal for a human to have. But when they take the reins and try to rule your life, it becomes toxic and has disastrous consequences on both yourself and the relationships around you. And this fight was a tragically perfect example of that.

But Marco couldn’t simply place the blame on his emotions. No, that wouldn’t fix their friendship at all. Because a sad part of him knew those were  _his_  words _,_ _his_  intentions, that it was  _his_  doing.

He had to take responsibility for hurting his best friend. Not his jealousy, not his anger.  _Him._

Best friends are  _supposed_  to be building you up, supporting you through all the high points and act as someone that they can lean on during the hardships. They provide advice when your mind can’t think clearly, they take care of you when you’re down, and they stick by you like glue. They weren’t supposed to be the ones tearing you back down, confirming your worst fears, or only being there when it’s convenient for  _them._

And Marco couldn’t let the fact that he did such a horrible thing to his best friend go.

_You betrayed him._

_You absolutely let him down._

_How could you to that to him? To Jean of all people?_

_You don’t deserve him._

_You don’t have the right to put him through what you just did._

_What kind of friend are you?  
_

_Worthless._

Puffy, red-rimmed eyes stared down at nothing as these negative thoughts swam inside of his head. Marco’s vision blurred when even that proved to be too strenuous for the state he was in. His entire body felt numb to the very core, and a large, yawning hole sat in his center threatening to swallow him up with every bash to himself.

Jean was so ever-present in his life and so  _important_  to Marco, that he desperately wanted to avoid the reality that he might be seeing a lot less of him soon. There was no way the blond would want to be near him anymore; after all he must have broken Jean’s hard earned trust in him.

Marco wished he had just kept his mouth shut and waited for his crush to fade away. If he could have held on a little longer, pretended for  _just_  a few more weeks, maybe this whole thing wouldn’t have happened. Sure, it would be hard on him at first, and maybe he would be upset when he thought about all the things they could have been. But it’s a hell of a lot better than seeing Jean so angry and  _hurt_  because of him. He didn’t want Jean absent from his life altogether if he could help it.

_I’m so sorry._

With only a few short months having passed, it should have been impossible for Marco to grow as attached to Jean as he was. But his heart seemed to transcend all reason. The moment he laid eyes on the angry blond, scarf wrapped so snuggly around his neck, he knew he was a goner. He couldn’t help admiring his sharp features and ashen blond hair that suited him  _so well_ _._ But more than anything, those beautiful, guarded amber eyes snared him in and left him craving more of its fire.

And now he worried that those eyes he adored would lose all their heat and be replaced with a cold, distant, and indifferent feeling.

Despite how much his heart told him not to, he knew letting go of his feelings was the best thing for both him and Jean. This crush was doing nothing but harm them, and if he ended all his feelings for his best friend they could be happy again. He wouldn’t care when Jean got crushes on other people, or slept with other people, or even dated other people. He could support him with all he’s got, because that’s what a best friend does. What a best friend  _should_ do. His own feelings didn’t matter; it would just make Jean uncomfortable in the end, and that was the last thing he wanted for him.

Taking a deep breath, Marco clenched his eyes shut and tightened his hands around his knees.  _It should be easy; just don’t think of him that way anymore. Rid yourself of any romantic feelings you have for Jean._

_Do it for him._

But before he could get rid of  _these_  feelings, he had to restore their friendship.

How could he go about it though? Chase after him and talk to him now? No, too rash.

Throw an “I’m an asshole so please forgive me” party? Ridiculous and kind of silly.

Wait until things fixed themselves? Unrealistic and too hopeful.

With every bad idea, he shook his head side to side. Running a hand through his hair, his mind quickly got off track when he thought about how wild it must look. He'd been messing with it for a while after all. Marco could imagine it now; his dark locks sticking up at incredible angles, maybe even forming small devil horns at the top of his head. It wouldn’t be the first time that's happened.

He snickered at the thought and turned to Jean’s desk to ask him to confirm his hair position. But he was punched in the gut when he was met with an empty desk chair and abandoned pencils. It left him feeling incomplete, like a painting with blank spaces where color should be. It didn’t make the painting  _bad_  per se, but it wasn’t as bright as it could be with those colorful splashes to make it stand out.

It wasn’t that Marco couldn’t live without Jean. A flower’s still a flower even without its petals, but it doesn’t look nearly as stunning or complete without them. To him, Jean was his petals. He made him feel happier and made him laugh more with his sarcasm and asshole-ish nature. He goes out of his way to cheer Marco up when he’s feeling down, and brings them Chinese food when he gets a huge craving. Was it such a crime to want to feel  _whole?_

He'd probably lost his chance to feel like that with him again.

_Your fault._

Marco felt another wave of guilt wrack his body at those words that voice threw at him. He severely wished he could just...take a break from himself. His mind's constant negativity and reminders had begun to exhaust him physically, and Marco was  _so damn_   _tired_  of it. He was  _tired_  of having an enemy inside of him where he couldn't reach. He was  _tired_  of feeling like crap all the time. And he was especially  _tired_ of being such a god-awful friend to the person he cared about the most.

Maybe what Jean needed was some time to breathe and get away from Marco. Who would want to face the person who screamed and called them a liar, right off the bat? If space was truly what was going to help him the most, then who was he to deny it from him. At least  _one_  of them should be able to escape him, right?

Satisfied with his conclusion, he ran his hands down his tear stained face and let out a shaky sigh. Slowly and carefully he got up from his spot on the floor. The room spun momentarily, but he soon regained balance and trudged up to his own bed. He fell backwards and bounced into his cold sheets for the first time in what seemed like forever. After sleeping in Jean’s bed all day, his own had begun to smell foreign to him. He found himself wishing he could wrap himself back up in those messy, wrinkled sheets of his.

Groaning, he tossed his forearm over his tear-assaulted eyes. This wasn’t abandoning a crush, not at  _all_. What was he  _doing?_

Even though he had slept plenty today, he felt the exhaustion of crying and panicking catch up with his body, and slowly but surely drag him into sweet unconsciousness. But before he fell under, he looked to the dent in the wall and cringed at the streaks of blood on it. He absently hoped Jean got that looked at and patched up soon.

Even now his last thoughts before he slept were of Jean.

_He would get over his crush eventually...right?_

_\----------------------------------------------_

Marco could physically avoid Jean as much as he wanted, but that didn’t stop the blond from popping up in his mind. If anything his friend’s absence made him think about him even  _more._ Too many things reminded him of Jean, from long scarves to cheap beer to pencils and acrylic paints. Each thing served as a bitter reminder of the friend he may have lost. A lot of the time, he would turn around around and expect to find Jean there, laughing and acting as if nothing had happened. But all he was ever met with was empty space and a suffocating sense of loneliness.

During the day he tried to stay out of the dorm as long as possible for fear of bumping into Jean. If they did run into each other, he didn’t want to be met with the anger that he had forcibly drawn out of him. But at night when escape was inevitable, the air  _wasn’t_  filled with the crackling, terrible anger he expected. Instead, a tense silence slowly crept around their necks and squeezed around their throats, effectively cutting off any attempt in conversation. Marco tried to speak, but the words were never there. No matter how much he raked his mind for them to apologize or just be able to say hello to him again, all he could do was hopelessly open and close his mouth. He and Jean would go to bed without uttering a single goodnight.

Marco didn’t think something so simple could be missed so much.

It wasn’t just Jean he decided to avoid, either. Connie and Sasha were some of Jean’s closest friends, and they were constantly huddled around him and goofing around. He didn’t want to take them away from him, and even though Marco was friends with them too, he decided it would be best to leave them alone.

So instead of finding a friend to distract him, he would have to settle for a Frappuccino and a sandwich.

A burst of cold air rushed behind him as the familiar chiming of a small golden bell rings above his head. Marco inhaled deeply and took in the calming scent of coffee, breads, and pastries. The comforting warmth in here was much more likeable than the chilly outside world. Looking around, he smiled softly at the strangers huddled on the familiar couches and tables, and admired the low hanging lights. Marco hadn’t really been here recently, and only now does he realize how much he missed the place.

In front of him stood a small line of people, and as he stepped behind them he heard a friendly voice call out over the quiet chatter.

“Welcome to the Little Titan Café! Ah, hey Marco!” Armin greeted, and Marco tilted to the side to wave to the blond man.

He stopped short, however, when his eyes fell upon a familiar mop of ashen hair at the front of the line. Marco was frozen in place; he couldn’t look away and his smile was plastered uncomfortably on his face. He noticed Jean’s shoulders were unnaturally stiff as well.

Jean went to wait for his drink without looking back at him. He couldn’t hide his immense disappointment.

As the line slowly inched forward, Marco was incredibly aware of Jean’s presence in the coffee shop. He kept his gaze in front of him, but it wasn’t like he was seeing much. His mind was much more occupied with other things than petty tasks like focusing his vision. Like trying not to bolt out of the place, for instance.

When he soon reached the counter, he turned his head just enough to see if Jean had gotten his coffee yet. But he didn’t expect to be met with a matching stare. Marco jumped in his skin at how hard the blond was staring, but he still kept his eyes steady with Jean's golden ones.

He could tell Jean definitely wanted to say something, but he was visibly struggling. He fiddled with the edge of his cup and distractedly bit at his chapped lower lip. Marco couldn’t keep his traitorous eyes from flickering to them every few seconds. The two of them remained silent as the line steadily grew longer. Grumbles of impatience came from behind him, but he paid them no mind, not when Jean was  _right there_ _._ Marco swallowed thickly and he waited, hoping Jean would say something,  _anything_ to him for once.

But his amber eyes dropped to the ground without a word, and pang of remorse hit his heart when they didn't look back up. Jean picked up his expensive drink and quickly walked out of the café, leaving behind a dejected Marco. He let out despondent sigh while running a hand through his already messy hair.

“Hey...you alright?” Armin asked, waving a hand in front of Marco’s face.

Once again he jolted, hand moving from his locks to the back of his freckled neck. Marco gave the cashier an apologetic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, sorry...”

He raised a thick eyebrow and silently questioned his spaced out and quiet demeanor. Armin thankfully didn’t bring it up, instead grabbing a cup and a pen. “The usual?”

“Yes please, thank you.” he confirmed, paying for his order.

The brunette shuffled over to the waiting area for his coffee, the forced smile quickly becoming too tiring for him. He let his face relax, the corners of his mouth naturally slipping into a frown. Marco quietly stared at the counter as Eren make his order; the ice, milk, and java chips combining into his favorite drink they served here. He topped it off with loads of whipped cream and a Mocha Sauce Drizzle. Marco had come around often enough to be known as a regular customer, and Eren had practically memorized his order by now.

The barista took his toasted BLT out of the oven and wrapped it in a paper covering. He slid it along with his sugary drink to the front of the counter “Marco!”

Taking the food, he noticed his Frappuccino had more whipped cream on it than usual. It was practically spilling out of the top, which was a pleasant surprise. Upon even closer inspection, He found a small note on the cup that was definitely not in Armin’s handwriting.

 _‘_ _Chin up, Bodt! :)_ _’_

He looked up to see Eren giving him a thumbs-up and a wide, toothy grin. Marco managed to squeeze out another smile for him before the barista was handed another order to complete. He made his way to a secluded table, and tried to enjoy his food and coffee without feeling like absolute crap.

_._

_.._

_..._

Marco made it a whole three minutes before his mind decided to over-think things.

_What had he been trying to say back there?_

Jean had been so... _hesitant_  and  _nervous_  around him, and seeing that look on his face broke Marco’s heart. It was probably a result of what he did to him. Maybe he had bad news to tell him; like that he thought they shouldn’t be friends anymore or maybe that they should stop being dormmates. Why else would he be fiddling with his jacket, biting his lip, and even avoiding his stare?

And honestly, who  _yells_  at their best friend for sleeping with someone? It didn’t have anything to do with him, and all his jealousy did in the end was ruin one of the best friendships he’s ever had.

He really hoped they could fix this, and as much as he felt he didn’t deserve it he  _really_  hoped Jean forgave him...

Oddly enough a hot cup of coffee was placed in front of him, shaking him from his internal monologue. Blinking rapidly, he saw a hand pull away from the saucer beneath the mug. A chair scraped across the floor, and Armin plopped down in the seat across from him.

“Um...?” Marco hesitated, looking from the blond to the drink.

“It’s coffee.”

He smiled nervously at the cashier. “I can see that, but why?”

“Well, generally in a  _coffee_  shop, people tend to serve  _coffee_ _—”_

“Oh my god, you know what I meant!” he cried out and a genuine smile unwillingly spread onto his face. He even let out a small laugh; something he hadn’t done in a while.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m on break now, so I decided to hop over and talk with you. And I brought the coffee because only you would drink a Frappuccino when it’s this cold out.” He smiled, loosening his long brown apron.

Marco raised his eyebrows, clearly confused. He and Armin had only spoken a handful of times before, so what could they have to talk about? “Thanks for that. But...why do you want to talk to  _me?”_

Armin took the time to adjust his black frames and fold his hands. “Because you’ve been out of it since you got here. Clearly, something’s been bothering you.”

His silence gave him all the answer he needed. Marco stared down at his hot cup of coffee, the mug feeling comfortingly warm in his hands. The drink looked pretty strong, if its dark color was anything to go by. He could even see his face in its reflection, and Marco couldn’t say he liked what he saw. His eyes were hooded over and he had dark bags underneath his eyes. The corners of his mouth were stuck in a frown, and thick brown locks stuck up in all directions. Marco self-consciously tried to smooth them down. Armin was right; he didn’t look so hot.

To avoid looking at himself any more, he took a careful sip of the coffee. Marco cringed at its taste and set it back down on its saucer; it burned his tongue, and it was  _way_  too bitter for him. He reached for some sugar and cups of creamers, pouring them into the motor oil that he tried to pass as coffee. Marco took an experimental sip, satisfied at the new sweetness.

Armin didn’t pressure him into talking right away. He patiently moved his hands to his chin, supporting his head and looking out the window until Marco could get all of his thoughts together. Marco was extremely grateful for how considerate he was being. He noticed that Armin’s hair was still in a pony tail, and wondered if it was kept in that style all the time or if it was just for work. Distractions seemed to help calm his mind, apparently.

Finally, when his mind seemed to sort itself out, he took a deep, stuttering breath and stared at the polished surface of the table. This seemed to be the blonds’ signal to turn his attention back to the freckled man.

“...Jean and I got into a, um...fight.” Marco revealed.

Armin dropped his hands back to the table and tilted his head to the side, quirking one brow. “That’s all? It’s not uncommon for dormmates to fight with each other, is it?”

“But it’s  _different_  with him. We got along  _so well,_  and we’ve never fought like this before. I mean, I  _did s_ ay some pretty...” he trailed off, the sound of his harsh words still reverberating in his mind. “awful things.”

 _“_ Oh? Mind if I ask what you said?” Armin inquired.

Marco didn’t want to answer right away, opting for twisting the porcelain cup nervously. He felt guilty about it when he merely thought about it, who knows how much more shameful he'd feel when he said it out loud.

“I,  _g-god_  I still can’t believe that I...”

_Calm down, Marco. He’s here to listen._

_Breathe in. Breathe out._

“I told him he doesn’t think about what I want, and that he doesn’t...care.”

The only sign of Armin’s surprise was the slight widening of his steel blue eyes. Other than that, he seemed to remain completely calm. “Why?”

Why? Why  _had_  he said it, exactly? “I don’t know, I was just hurt and angry and—”

 _“_ What did he do to make you feel that way?”

“It’s dumb and it doesn’t even matter. Nothing could excuse what I did.” he shrugged, voice quavering with emotion. Marco tried to avoid his insistent stare.

Armin gently leaned forward in his seat, which reflexively made him stare back. And those eyes  _bore_  into the freckled man, making sure Marco knew just how genuine his next words were.

“Marco. If the reason is hurting both Jean  _and_ you bad enough to make you act like this, then I’d say it matters a whole lot. _Your feelings_ _matter_ _,_ you know.”

 _T_ here was nothing Marco could think to say to that, and so he sat in silence. He could only flicker his gaze between the table’s surface and the blonds’ icy blue eyes. They were pretty, but what stood out more than the color was how full of emotion yet calculating they were. His eyes read him and studied him like an open book, taking in all his ticks and his words, and reacting accordingly. But it wasn’t that Armin was  _judging_  him. It was quite the opposite, if he took the time to think about it. He was willing to let the freckled man feel what he truly felt and say what he wanted to say, no matter how much his mind told him it was pointless. That stare was a sign of permission and encouragement, and they made his words all the more trustworthy.

Marco released the coffee mug and wiped the sweat from his hands onto his jeans as he built up courage. He wanted to believe in those blue eyes and his kind words. Marco took a deep breath, and willed himself to actually  _talk about it_  with someone.

It wasn't doing anyone any good by keeping it bottled up inside.

“Um, he...slept with Mikasa.” he finally stuttered out, and he waited anxiously for the blonds’ response.

Armin smiled and leaned back in his chair, placing his folded hands on his lap instead. “Ah, that. I’ve heard about it. So that’s what made you so upset?”

Marco’s eyes widened considerably, and confusion replaced his nervousness. “Wait, wait.  _What_? How did  _you_  know that he—”

“She and I are pretty close, believe it or not. Being childhood friends, you kind of hear about all the juicy gossip that goes around. She’s really protective of me. Eren, too.” the smile on his face grew warmer as he kept talking. “The three of us have been together a long time, and I’m really grateful that we’re still great friends even in college.”

So  _that_  was why he knew about it. He welcomed the feeling of relief and let himself relax just a little. “That’s really great, Armin.”

“Yeah, it really is...She told me a lot of things about Jean,” Marco’s interest was piqued, and he leaned in to listen.

“Like about how  _great_  he was in bed, apparently.”

Marco felt his jaw drop as he grew much warmer than the heated café around him. He made a small choking sound akin to a dying crow, and the evil blond laughed loudly at his floundering. He scolded himself for getting so worked up over a single sentence.

Just  _one simple phrase_  could make him blush this fiercely and imagine Jean in bed, maybe even in bed with  _him_. A few syllables could make him think about the pretty little sounds Jean might make, and wondering what areas he could attack and leave the blond writhing. Marco would trail small kisses up his torso to his shoulders, his jaw, his cheek, and when Jean couldn’t take it anymore he would hover above those gorgeous pink lips of his, mere centimeters away. He would be able to see those captivating eyes of fire become enveloped by black pupils, dilated with lust  _just_  for him and hear him  _begging_  to kiss him already—

Marco jolted from his obscene fantasy and his entire body stiffened. Not only did his face feel two shades darker, there was no way for him to subtly check if he had a, ahem,  _problem_  down there without giving himself away.

_This is **not** the time to be thinking about that, for god’s sake! You are talking to a friend  **in public**  and you  **can’t**  just let your mind wander like that! And what ever happened to letting your feelings for him go, huh?_

Meanwhile, Armin had been watching him with that same calculating stare, cogs quickly turning in his mind. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Cursing to himself, he swallowed thickly and tried to give his best “Nothing is wrong and I’m perfectly fine” smile. It didn’t feel convincing to him, and he doubted it did to Armin either; it was probably wobbly, at best.

Yet he didn’t say anything about it right away, which both confused him and made him feel reassured. Maybe he was safe after all?

Armin went back to leaning forward in his seat, covering his mouth with his loosely folded hands. “So you’re bothered by the fact that Jean had sex with someone?”

Marco looked anywhere but at the person in front of him. “Uh...I, I guess?”

“And you’re  _sure_  of that?”

Now the freckled man was beginning to feel uneasy. What was he planning...? “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know. I’m just making sure that it’s not for any  _other_ reason.” he dismissed easily.

Marco didn’t like where this was going. “Like...?”

“For instance, I want to see if you might be upset not because he had sex with someone, but that he had sex with Mikasa  _specifically_.”

“U-Um—”

“ _Or._ ” Armin interrupted, locking eyes with Marco so he couldn’t look away. He felt that forced smile on his face grow wider with nervousness.

“Or...?” he squeaked, feeling the sweat from his hands come back in full force.

“ _Maybe_  you’re upset,” he began, and the brunette could see the mischievous smile behind his folded hands. “because it wasn’t  _you_  he had sex with?”

And there it was, the conclusion he was afraid the cashier was going to draw. Immediately he barked out a forced laugh, but his hands still trembled against his jeans at having been figured out. What the blond said wasn’t  _completely_  true, was it? He wasn’t mad because  _he_  wasn’t the one having passionate drunken sex with Jean... _was he?_

 _God_ , who was he trying to kid. He’d just had a fantasy about being in bed with his dormmate minutes ago. The idea of being jealous because Jean slept with someone other than him wasn’t so ludicrous. But that didn’t mean it was  _okay_  for him to be envious of her. Jean didn’t belong to anyone, and he wasn’t even dating the guy.  _And yet..._

“I—um. I... _might_  be?” he admitted, drawing out every syllable as long as he could.

Armin’s smile finally lessened into a friendlier one, and he was clearly pleased that his guess was right. “That’s something you’ve definitely got to think about then, huh?”

A silent nod from the blushing freckled man.

“Although...there  _was_  something Jean did in the midst of the sex. Something that she and him both won’t forget for a  _long_  while.”

Marco wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but he took the chance and asked regardless. “What did he do?”

Armin shrugged in his seat and took out his hair tie, shiny blond locks falling to his shoulders once again. He then went to redo his hair. “I think that’s something you should let him tell you yourself.”

A negative mood settled on top of Marco’s shoulders once again, making him slump heavily. “I don’t know if I even want to find out. And...why would he want to talk to me now? After I said all that  _awful_  s-shit to him and made him so upset, why in the right mind would he forgive someone like...someone like  _me_?”

The blond cashier stood up then, his chair smoothly sliding behind him. He unexpectedly placed his smaller hands on Marco’s shoulders, with a slightly serious expression. “Marco?”

“Y-Yes?”

“You two are best friends, right?”

“Yes...” At least he  _hoped_  they were.

He patted Marco on the shoulders twice, his expression melting back into a kind smile. Pushing his chair in, he leaned on the top of the wooden frame. “Then I’m sure you guys can fix this up. But you need to talk it out first. Communication is important in a relationship—”

“We aren’t—”

“ _Platonic_  or otherwise.” Armin interrupted, effectively silencing his protests. Marco scrunched his eyebrows slightly.

Once he was sure Marco wasn’t going to cut in again, he continued. “Look. This issue isn’t going to repair itself if you two pretend nothing happened. You need to acknowledge that it did so you can learn and  _grow_  from it, so that the same mistake doesn’t happen again.”

How can one college student be so  _wise_?

“I...I guess you’re right. But what if he doesn’t want to talk to me yet?” he worried. After all, that was a very real possibility.

“I’m not saying do it right this second, but consider doing it soon. It wouldn’t be good for either of you to let something like this rot for too long.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Marco admitted. If there was something he didn’t want to do, it was let this fight ruin them forever. If there was a chance that he could make things right, he would do whatever he could to make it happen.

“Aren’t I always?” he replied with a confident smirk. Marco’s eyes widened and he let out a short laugh at his snarky remark.

A loud and boisterous voice called out from behind the counter, one that could only belong to a certain barista. “Yo, Armin! Break’s over! Come back from your little  _date_  with Marco and get behind the register already!”

Marco smiled awkwardly, unsure of what he should do, while Armin heavily rolled his eyes. “Ah yes. Because it is so  _painfully_  obvious that  _this_ ,” he wildly gestured to the table and Marco. “is in fact, a date! It’s not like I’m just talking to a  _friend_  or anything  _absurd_  like that! I am practically  _drowning_  in all this romantic affection we  _so clearly have_  for each other!”

“Oh shut the hell up and get over here already.” Eren chuckled, wiping his hands off on a spare towel.

“Be right there.” Armin assured, and then turned back to the freckled man. “Sorry that our  _“date”_  has to end so soon, especially since we just found out about it.”

Marco waved a hand in front of him, the awkward smile lessening somewhat. “It’s fine, really. I have to say, I’m kind of surprised at how, ah,  _sarcastic_  you are though.”

“What, did you expect me to be a “precious cinnamon roll” or something?” he questioned, eyes widened innocently.

“...Would you be mad if I said yes?”

Armin let out a small laugh. “Not really? I mean people usually think that of me, so I’ve kind of gotten used to it. I’m not really sure why they say it though...”

Ironically enough, the sun shone through the window at  _just_  the right time, making Armin look practically golden in the afternoon light.  _He has to be an angel._

Marco still couldn’t believe Armin had gone out of his way to talk to him during his precious break time. The cashier had even managed to give him some really good advice. He helped him sort out his catastrophic thoughts and showed him that his feelings were valid. Things with Jean and him weren’t as irreparable as he originally thought, and he would have never been able to see that without Armin.

He just needed someone to look at this whole thing from an objective standpoint. And Marco was really glad that he had decided to be that person. He swore to himself that he would try to become closer friends with the cashier soon. 

But first, he had to mend a different friendship.

“Thanks. For the advice and the free coffee, I mean. The coffee  _was_  free...wasn’t it?”

Armin covered his mouth as he giggled quietly. “Yes, Marco. The coffee was free. And no problem! I know we’ve never really talked much outside of ordering drinks, but I couldn't just watch you beat yourself up at this table all by yourself.”

There was no way he could keep the comment to himself any more. “You’re like an angel or something.”

“An angel huh? That’s a first.” he noted, padding backwards towards the counter. “I’ve got to get back to my shift, but let me know how things turn out, okay? I can always listen again if you need me to.” he offered, retying his brown apron one final time.

“Yeah, I will.”

Armin spun back around and bounced to the counter while Eren looked at him contemplatively. His hand was holding his chin, and he squinted as he looked his childhood friend up and down.

The blond tilted his head in question until the barista finally answered. “I’m not sure which one suits you better; Cinnamon Roll or Angel.”

He shook his head in disbelief, but smiled nonetheless. “Oh shut up, you doofus.”

Marco looked down at his lukewarm coffee, and then back to Armin and Eren. Seeing them be so friendly with each other made Marco long for his friendship with Jean. It had only been a few days, but they were filled with silence and a tenseness that he didn’t know how to deal with. He wanted to make jokes with him and watch movies and laugh their asses off again. He wanted to be able to call Jean affectionate insults again. He wanted Jean to fall asleep in his lap as they struggled to fight off drunken tiredness again.

He wanted things to go back to normal between them, and to do that he knew he was going to have to apologize.

_**Big time.** _

.

..

...

Marco had walked back to their dorm soon after Armin had gone back to his shift. Shivering, he wished he would have had more of that coffee before it went cold. He hurried along, practically jogging back to his building and pushing open the double doors. Marco couldn’t  _wait_  to get into his dorm and wrap himself in so many blankets that it would be impossible to dig him out. He quickly rounded the corner to his hallway—

And saw a surprised Jean, standing in front of their door with one hand still hovering over the handle. He must have just gotten here, too. Jean looked equally as shocked to see him, like a deer caught in headlights.

Marco felt himself stiffen, his first instinct telling him to turn around and get out of there as soon as possible, to just pretend he didn’t see his best friend at their door and go back to the café instead. But Armin’s stern voice popped into his head, making it impossible.

_It wouldn’t be good for either of you to let something like this rot for too long._

What was the point in talking with Armin if he didn't follow through with any of his advice?

If Marco was  _really_ going to make anything right, he could start with not avoiding Jean like the plague.

Ignoring his body’s original protests, he strolled up to the front door and tried to go inside. But he was stopped by Jean moving to go in at the same time. Both of them stepped back to make room for the other.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“Nah, it’s fine. You go.”

“No no, you were here first.”

“Look just go through the damn door already.”

“I...okay.”

Heading inside, Marco gave him a wobbly smile, though he still kept his eyes down. He made a beeline for the top bunk to bury himself in the piles of blankets he owned.

“Hey, _wait._ ” Jean called, bringing Marco to a halt.

His voice had an unexpected, desperate tone that made him turn around. And even though he didn’t look into Jean’s eyes, he could still see the blonds’ outstretched hand coming down to his side.  _Was he reaching for me just now? No, it doesn’t matter. Relax already. Be normal._

“Y-yeah?”  _Nailed it. You truly are the epitome of 'normal'._

“I, well, shit. Uh...” Jean stammered, and for the second time today he saw the blond biting his lip.

_Was that something Jean did when he was nervous? How could he have not noticed until now? Was he just as anxious about this whole thing as Marco?_

“I was wondering if maybe we could, like...talk?”

The word “talk” froze his mind momentarily. Talk?  _Talk?_  What did he mean by that? Talk could mean an infinite amount of things, and a lot of them weren’t particularly good either.

“Over.. _dinner_  or s-something?” he finished.

Well, _that_  certainly got his attention. The way he worded that almost made it sound like a date, though it was probably just his imagination. Marco struggled to fight the blush rising to his cheeks, but to no avail. His face betrayed him, and easily showed his embarrassment.

He finally worked up the nerve to look Jean in the eyes, and only now did he notice that he looked just as rough as Marco did. His hair was messy in a way that seemed anything but purposeful, and the area under his eyes looked darker than usual. His jacket seemed a little too big for him, and his eyes were extremely hopeful for Marco’s answer. Even his cheeks were slightly flushed, though he decided to blame it on the cold outside.

“Dinner? I...that’s...” Marco was having a hard time finding the words to show how happy and anxious he was feeling, so he was forced to remain silent.

Unfortunately, Jean took this as a bad sign and immediately backpedaled. “Or not, you don’t have to; it doesn’t have to be—”

“No!” Marco protested, and Jean stopped gnawing his lip to stare at him in surprise. Clearly he wasn’t expecting such an outburst, and honestly neither was the freckled man.

Marco held his hands out in front of him, panicking. “I-I meant yes, I didn’t actually mean no. Well I  _sort_  of did, but not like that. I was saying no to the, uh...I just... _anyways_ , d-dinner? Yes. Dinner sounds neat— _good_. Dinner sounds  _good_ , not neat, that sounds stupid. Not that the dinner sounds stupid! Um—”

“ _Marco._ ”

All it took was that one, small, insignificant word to pull him back down to the ground. It’s so strange how one word can affect someone so strongly. His mind froze all his panicked thoughts, and let him focus on the sound of his own name on his lips.  _God_  had he missed hearing Jean say it. It’s only been, what, four,  _five days_  at the most?

The least he could do was squeeze out a response, right? “Wuhah?”

For the first time in a while, he heard a light, breathy laugh and saw a small smirk decorate Jean’s face. That smile  _belonged_  there; it was a signature thing that only he could pull off so well. Marco was glad he finally brought it back, yet at the same time he felt guilty for taking it away in the first place. Jean’s hands twitched at his sides, restlessly opening and closing in search for  _something_. Before Marco could figure out what they were looking for, he was again captured by a few more, small, insignificant words.

“ _It’s okay._ ”

Whether he was talking about the fight or him spazzing over dinner, Marco wasn’t sure.

But he still hung onto those words like they were his lifeline.

\----------------------------------------------

Jean had offered to drive them there, and after he had refused to accept gas money, Marco begrudgingly agreed. He wanted to keep where they were going a surprise too, which left Marco in thought the entire way there. It was uncharacteristically quiet in the car, and just when it felt like they teetering on the edge of starting a conversation, Jean pulled up into the parking lot.

When he saw the vaguely familiar stone building in front of them, Marco lit up like a child on Christmas morning. A genuinely happy smile was plastered on his face, and Jean laughed at his expression.

“What? Never been to an Olive Garden before?” he commented, and Marco abashedly rubbed the back of his neck.

“Ah, no, it’s not that. It’s just been a while since I’ve been here, so I’m kind of really excited is all.” He felt the warmth in his cheeks contrast the cold night air.

Jean nodded in understanding. “Not so easy to do on a college student’s income.”

They both let the conversation awkwardly end there as they exited the car.

The restaurant was _terribly_  crowded, which was to be expected with Olive Garden being as popular as it is. Jean and Marco had to wait an uncomfortably silent half hour before they could manage to get a table right next to an elderly couple and a large, obnoxious family who couldn’t stop laughing for the life of them.

“Sorry about the seats.”

“No worries.”

Jean and Marco were seated at a two person table, and he couldn’t stop himself from thinking that this must look a lot like a date to a stranger. He clamped his lips together as if it would silence his mind, but he still entertained the thought. Him and  _Jean?_  On a  _date_? Where couples go to smile and laugh and hold hands and...k-kiss each other? Marco slowly looked up from the table to see Jean staring off and distractedly biting his lip again, and  _oh no. Oh no, you are **not** doing this Bodt. You look away from those chapped pink lips right now or  **he is going to notice**  and you won’t be able to stop your feelings—_

Luckily his mind was cut off by a warm basket of breadsticks placed on the table. They were wrapped in a green cloth, buttered, seasoned, and looked absolutely  _amazing_. A woman standing before them, her hair styled into a side pony-tail, gave them a polite smile.

Marco had never been so glad to see a waitress in his life.

“Hi, welcome to Olive Garden!” she greeted, pulling out a small notepad from her apron. “My name’s Carla and I’ll be your waitress for this evening. Can I start you guys off with something to drink?”

"Uh, can I get a coke, please?"

"Same here."

The waitress quickly bounded off after taking their order, and with that his savior and distraction was gone.

Until he remembered what she had left them with.

“Oh hell yeah, the breadsticks! The ones here are the  _best._ ” He exclaimed, pulling one from the pile. He hastily stuffed it into his mouth and practically moaned around the bread, glad to have finally tasted one after so long. The food was really just to keep himself from talking, but they still tasted fantastic.

“A-Aren’t they?” Jean agreed, grabbing one for himself. He didn’t wolf them down like Marco did; instead he nibbled on them slowly. It made the freckled man look like a pig in comparison, so he tried to slow down on the ‘sticks.

“Mhm...I wonder how they're so soft?” he wondered aloud, examining the half eaten bread in his hand.

“Who knows?”

Marco felt the conversation dying down, and with it the awkward silence he thought they’d abandoned took its place. People around them were talking, laughing, and generally having a good time while the two of them were stiff as a board in their seats. They could have easily blamed the silence on the fact that they were eating, but both of them knew it was much more than that. A few short conversations didn’t mean things were fixed between them yet. It didn’t solve the problems that the two of them had, it only masked them.

There was only one way to truly fix things.

And Marco was extremely apprehensive about doing it. He felt like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for the right words to start this hell of a conversation.

“So...” Jean began, looking up from his breadstick.

He swallowed his food before speaking. “So...”

“About what I wanted to...to talk to you about.”

_Boom._

This was much sooner than he expected, much much sooner. He expected to at least have until they ordered their actual meals, but Jean's diving straight into the topic.  _It’s too hot. Is it actually hot in here, or was that just him? Could someone open a window or a door or something? Please? Or maybe pull the fire alarm so they would have to leave? Who was he kidding; at this rate they might have to call an ambulance what with how fast his heart was beating. It felt like it was lodged in his throat instead of his chest._

Marco tried his best not to reveal his internal panicking. “Oh, yeah? What about it?”

“Well, uh. I just...”

 _Here it comes._  He desperately hoped Jean couldn’t hear his erratic heart from there. Sweat made his shirt stick uncomfortably to his back, and the brunette prepared himself for the worst.

“...Fuck, I’m really sorry for snapping at you, Marco.”

_...What?_

Marco let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, and felt both relieved and confused at his apology. “W-What? You’re sorry for—ah! No no no, it’s completely fine! You don’t need to apologize for—”

“But I  _do_ , and I am. I  _really_  shouldn’t have punched the wall and scared you like that. I didn’t need to take it that far.” He apologized, and absentmindedly rubbed his hands. Marco looked down and was pained by what he saw.

His knuckles were decorated with ugly purple and brown bruises, some darker than others. Red, irritated cuts were also on his hands, and it looked like Jean was trying his best to hide them.

_**You**  did that to him._

“Ah, right, that...”

Jean took his hesitance as a bad sign, and he desperately looked into Marco’s eyes to try and dispel any fear that might have been there. “I...Marco, you know I would never,  _never_  hurt you, right? Not in  _any_  way, no matter how stupidly angry I might get?”

Marco smiled warmly at him. “I know, Jean. I trust you would never hurt me.”

"Thank god..."

His words loosened Jean up considerably, and he was pleased to see that the blond didn't look nearly as nervous now. The topic threatened to end there, but there was still one thing he hadn’t addressed, still one thing they hadn't fixed.

“But...that anger wasn’t unjustified.”

Jean furrowed his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—I’m sorry, too. For, um. Saying all those t-terrible things to you. I didn’t mean any of the shitty things I said back then.” He stuttered, voice racked with guilt.

“You...didn’t?”

Marco’s heart physically  _ached_  at how surprised Jean sounded. He had  _really_  fucked up.

But now, he was going to try his damndest to fix it.

“No,  _of course_  I didn’t, Jean. You mean the absolute  _world_  to me, and I  _know_  you care about me; it was really wrong of me to say you didn’t. I was just angry and hurt, I guess...B-But that still doesn’t mean it was okay for me to do or anything!” he fretted, fiddling nervously with his silverware.

“What...what happened to make you so upset?” he asked.

At that, Marco grew alarmed. He couldn’t tell him the truth, not now, but he really didn’t want to straight up _lie_  to his best friend after being so close to making up.  _What should he say?_

“Ah...just something at the party that I don’t really want to get into.” That  _technically_  wasn’t lying, was it?

“Oh...”

Crap, he could totally tell he was avoiding the truth, couldn’t he.

_Just keep going._

_You’re almost there._

“But I’m fine! I’m going to be fine, don’t worry about me. I just didn’t want you to think you were the only one at fault here. I messed up just as badly, maybe even more than you did—”

“False.”

“Wh—no, I’m pretty sure I—”

“Nooooooooope.”

 _“Anyways!”_  he laughed, and this time it was his turn to look into Jean’s eyes. He boldly yet gently grabbed Jean’s hands, and he could see the red rising to his cheeks as he floundered in his hold.  _Payback._  “What I’m trying to say is that I’m  _really_  sorry. For  _everything_. A-And I hope you’ll forgive me.”

“Only if you’ll forgive me.” Jean smiled, and it was the widest and most genuine he’d seen it all night. His hands were cold, but they didn’t stay like that for long with Marco holding them.

“Of course I will. So...does this mean that we’re friends again? And that we’re not fighting anymore?” Marco hoped. His eyebrows scrunched as he worried that maybe this was all a dream. Maybe the two of them  _didn’t_  make up, and he was just asleep in his blankets like he originally planned.

“We never stopped being friends, dumbass. We just had a fight. A pretty bad one that is  _most definitely_  over now.” Jean assured, squeezing his hands back, and Marco slumped in relief. It was  _finally over_. At long last, things were getting better between them.

Their waitress decided now would be a perfect time to come back from wherever she had gone off to. “Alright you love-birds, have you two decided on what you’d like to eat?”

Both of them glanced down and came to the embarrassing realization that yes, they were still holding hands, and _yes_ , the waitress had caught them doing it and assumed they were a couple. Who  _wouldn’t_  in that kind of situation? Quickly they pulled apart and fumbled with their menus, ashamed that neither of them had even thought about what to eat yet.

“C-Can you give us a little more time?” Marco asked, a twitching, sheepish smile on his face.

“Okay, just let me know when you decide!” she chirped, tossing a knowing smile over her shoulder before hopping over to another table.

The minute she left, the two of them slowly turned to one another and stared each other in the eye, slightly mortified at being caught holding hands. But Marco felt his face unwillingly curve into a smile, and the second he heard Jean’s poorly concealed snort he began _laughing_. Not just small giggles that anyone could contain. Oh no, they were  _cackling_  so loudly that they had the huge family at the table nearby staring at them in confusion. They couldn’t stop themselves even if they wanted to, tears rolling down their red faces as they clutched at their stomachs and gasped for air. They were practically in pain from all the wheezing and roaring laughter.

And it felt so,  _so_  good.

From that point on, conversation came to them easily. They talked about nothing and everything, chatting about what had gone on the past few days and anything else they could think of.

“Armin said  _what?!_ ”

“ _I know!_  Who knew the guy could be such a—”

“Sarcastic little shit?”

“Exactly!”

The smiles never once left their faces, leaving their cheeks incredibly sore. Jean had even discovered something absolutely incredible that night when checking his phone.

“Marco.  _Marco oh my god!_ ”

“What?”

“ _Olive Garden DELIVERS._ ”

“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

“DEAD FUCKING SERIOUS, LOOK.”

When he confirmed Jean’s findings on the screen, Marco’s hands went up into the air, and he shouted to the restaurants ceiling.

“AT LONG LAST THE LORD HAS ANSWERED MY PRAYERS.”

 _That_  earned him a dirty look from the elderly couple behind them, yet they kept on laughing their heads off. He was surprised no one told them to be quieter or kicked them out of the place. The worst they got was a couple of dirty looks, but neither of them could be bothered to care. They ate huge servings of delicious pasta and sinfully soft breadsticks until they finally had their fill.

Jean ordered an extra bag of breadsticks, and Marco didn’t hide his giddiness in the slightest. The brunette tried to pay for half of their meal, but the most Jean would let him pay for was his own pasta. He tried to argue, but the blond was having none of it.

“I guess you’ll just have to pay next time, yeah?”

 _Next time, huh._  He felt himself practically glow at the promise of a next time, and he easily put his wallet away. They finally left the restaurant and went back out into the cold, dark, November night. Large metal lamp posts illuminated the nearly empty parking lot, and they slowly made their way to the car. Sneakers scuffled across the asphalt as pairs of headlights came and left just as soon. The sleeves on Marco's sweatshirt were rolled down far past his hands, and he closed them off in an attempt to stay warm. Jean opted for keeping his hands in his pockets, but not without commenting on how ridiculous Marco's current fashion statement looked. He childishly stuck his tongue out at him.

The tips of their uncovered ears and noses quickly became flushed with cold, and he could see their breath shoot out in front of them before dissolving into nothing. Heavy, dark sheets hung overhead, and a part of him wished he could see the twinkling stars he knew were behind them. They made him feel so small and insignificant, but their flickering glow paired next to the crescent moon always made him feel wistful. Tonight, he would have to settle for the protective blanket of clouds that hardly moved above him. All of these simple things made the night feel...serene. It was the kind of night that made you wonder what the people inside are doing. Marco wished the cold weather could freeze the world, so that this scene never had to change.

Marco almost let himself get carried away by the tranquil feeling of the night. He wasn't sure if Jean's statement was rhetorical or not, but he had to retort somehow. “I’m not letting you get away with this, you know.”

Jean seemed to have forgotten too, until he rolled his eyes at the nonthreatening freckled man. “Ooh, I’m  _so_  scared. What’re you gonna do,  _treat me to death?_ ”

“Just you try and stop me.” He grinned, a mischievous look in his brown eyes.

Jean glared at him as a warning. “Marco Bodt  _don’t you fucking dare._ ”

“I’m going to give you _so_ many things.” he teased.

“No! That’s not allowed!”

“I’ll get you all your favorite foods, make you a new super soft scarf, and smother you with  _biiiig hugs_ —” At this point, Marco wrapped Jean in the biggest hug he could manage, and pressed his cheek to the top of his ashen blond head.

“O-Oh my  _god, Marco! Stop!_ ” he protested, smacking the offending man and having no choice but to hide his red face in the freckled man's chest.

Marco just laughed at Jean’s embarrassment, and gave him one last lung crushing hug before sliding into Jean's car.

"You have the grip of a fucking snake, you know that?" he complained as he turned the key.

"Hugs are what I do best." Marco shrugged, smiling over at the grumpy man.

Once they pulled out of the parking lot, they started the short ride home. Most of the way, Marco watched the lights of the city blur into streaks and blend together like an abstract painting. It was peaceful, watching the blues and purples and yellows and pinks leave their marks on his vision before disappearing behind them. He wished he could capture this moment too, or even just these lights so he could look back at time and time again. Sometimes Marco would go without seeing a colorful light for miles, but soon enough they would all return and resume their mesmerizing dance on their dark night canvas. It reminded him of Jean's eyes, in a way. They only lit up Marco's world for a brief second, and all he wanted to do was admire them forever.

Music wasn't needed in here, not tonight. The sound of their contented sighs and the constant muted sound of roaring tired was all they needed. This silence was a comfortable one that carefully embraced them instead of harshly squeezing their throats. They welcomed the blissful quietness with open arms, but it ended all too soon as the familiar sight of their campus came into view.

Shuffling into their dorm, the two of them immediately got changed so they could go to bed. It had been a very long day with a very happy ending to it, but Jean and Marco longed for a good night's rest. Once sweatshirts and jeans were replaced with loose t-shirts and boxers, they climbed into their respective beds.

The room was still for a bit, and right before Marco could fall asleep, he heard his dormmates' muffled, sleepy voice.

“’M glad I could see you smile again.”

He swore his face could have started a fire right then and there. Laughing nervously, he asked, “What do you mean?”

Jean sounded extremely surprised. Well, as surprised as someone who's half awake could be. “I—y-you’re awake? I thought you would’ve passed out by now since you were practically nodding off in the car.”

It was true, he  _was_  pretty tired on the way back. How could he not be with how peaceful everything felt? But all of that fatigue seemed to escape his mind at Jean’s words. “Well I mean I’m awake  _now_. C’mon, tell me. What did you mean by that?”

A response didn’t come right away. All Marco could do was stare up at the ceiling and hope that he wouldn't keep this one to himself. And just when he thought Jean wasn’t going to answer, he finally spoke up.

“Uh...I mean, you kind of smile at everything, you know? When you’re scared, or when you’re nervous, or even when you’re sad, you’re always  _smiling_. It’s almost like a reflex for you, like you’re putting up a mask that says ‘Everything is great’, even when it’s really not.”

Really hitting the nail on the head, huh? Marco couldn’t even try to deny it. He couldn't begin to count how many times it had happened today  _alone._  He burrowed himself further into his soft, thick blankets.

“...But if you’re not  _actually_  happy, it doesn’t feel the same. It’s not a smile, not  _really_. You’re just...moving your mouth a certain way. It doesn’t even reach your eyes, especially when you’re upset. And...that’s all I’ve been seeing recently. I mean, until tonight.”

He remained silent, and absently wondered if Jean would still be talking if he knew for sure that he was still listening.

“Your real smiles are more than just tugging your lips upwards and calling it good. It shows on all the parts of your face, not just there. Your eyes, your cheeks, just...everything shows how truly happy you are.”

Marco couldn’t help the grin that snuck up on his face. He felt his heartbeat quickening, though his attentiveness never faltered.

“It...the real deal can light up an entire room without even trying. And it’s my favorite one of all, because it isn’t forced. Your  _real_  smile just looks so...natural. And  _right_. And I’m really glad I could see you smile like that again, Marco.”

By the time Jean finished, he was smiling so wide that his exhausted cheeks were screaming in protest. He had to cover his mouth to prevent any embarrassing sounds from escaping, and he was certain the blond thought he was asleep. But he most certainly wasn't, no, not with how fast his mind was racing. Jean just told him he liked his smile, and that made him feel practically giddy with joy. _  
_

Jean loudly cleared his throat once, and he heard a sharp tug of blankets from below.

“...N-Night.”

Marco couldn’t help it; he let out a quiet, muffled giggle that he hoped Jean didn’t hear. It was partially because of the failed attempt in regaining his masculinity. But more than anything it was because he finally,  _finally_  heard Jean tell him goodnight again. It wasn’t anything major, but for him it was enough to make his heart glow brighter than the city lights outside.

Marco knew that his way of thinking wasn’t going to get rid of his feelings for Jean, not by a long shot. But he could let himself feel this way for a _little_ longer...couldn’t he?

Suddenly, Jean angrily mumbled in his sleep. Something about...breadsticks and  _Satan?_ Then he let out a terrifyingly loud snore before presumably rolling over, and Marco couldn’t help letting another loose laugh escape his lips.  _What the hell is going on in that head of his?_

He made a mental note to ask him about it in the morning, and with that final thought Marco smiled into his pillow as he finally let his eyelids slide closed.

 

Yeah...a little longer couldn’t hurt.

 

 

“Goodnight, Jean.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, cool! Another chapter! And it only took me 20 ish days hahah;;;  
> Sorry for the wait you guys, and trust me, I'm just as glad to be writing happy Marco as you guys are reading it.  
> Next chapter will be Thanksgiving! Oh boy, family!!!
> 
> I'll try to keep it as happy as possible;;;
> 
> Oh, and if you're confused by that "breadsticks and satan" bit, it's because Marco thought the breadsticks were sinfully delicious and it was really funny when I typed it out okay
> 
> As always, please leave me a comment and let me know what you think! I absolutely love feedback!!
> 
> i also have a [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) if anyone is interested!


	12. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Mid-Winter break, and Marco's going to Jinae for a week while Jean stays at the dorms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Hey hey hey, guess who drew a thing for this chapter! It's me
> 
> Hello! It seems like updates are happening about a month apart now, huh?  
> Unfortunately, I've started my junior year of high school now, but im hoping my classes won't hinder my ability to update this story.  
> Originally I was going to split this chapter into two, because I wasn't sure if you guys want to sit through roughly 13k words in one sitting, but i think i'll keep it as it is. Hope you don't mind much?  
> On another note, I've confirmed that there are only going to be two more chapters of this fic, so be ready  
> I also have a [tumblr](kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) so check it out and talk to me!  
> 

“Alright, time’s up.”

At Professor Levi’s words, the classroom let out a collective groan, some in relief and others in despair. Pencils slapped down onto desks and rolled from lifeless hands, everyone completely destroyed by the timed essay they were forced to write. Students slumped in their desks, shifting their pages of handwritten torture, some of them still enough to pass off as dead. The entire scene looked more like a battlefield than an English classroom.

The complaining wasn’t appreciated by the short teacher, if the icy glare he wore was any indication. “Oh, shut your traps. If you’re actually whining about the essay, then it’s your own damn fault for not using the study guide I gave you all _last week_.”

He could tell that the classroom wanted to object in some way, but they all remained obediently silent. Professor Levi tilted his head upwards, a sign of how pleased he was.

“This will be graded on a _slight_ curve.” Students all around tried to cheer, but the professor silenced them by raising a single hand. “Don’t shit yourselves, I said _slight._ It’s not bringing you up by three letter grades for god’s sake.”

Still, everyone was excited at even the smallest chance to raise their grade in this class. It was a rare treat when Professor Levi offered extra credit, so often times people were stuck with the grades they earned. Something about ‘Encouraging students to not rely on bonus points’. Most everyone just saw it as complete bullshit, but they wouldn’t dare let him know if they wanted to keep their grades intact.

Their teacher grabbed a stack of papers he planned on correcting. Everyone moved to the edge of their seat, holding their breaths and poised to leave as soon as they heard him straighten them against the podium. It was their signal of freedom, and always came at the end of class. Everybody was more impatient than usual, considering what they knew was waiting for them afterwards.

“On your way out, hand your essays to me. I will be grading these while you’re gone, so expect them to be back on your desks the Monday you return. Until then,” he rose up the stacks of papers, and students were eagerly grabbing at the edge of their desks. “Enjoy your Mid-Winter break.”

With that final message, the holy sound of papers being aligned on the desk resounded throughout the classroom. Students all around gave a collective sigh of relief and jumped up to hand him the results of their hard work, glad to be finally free from classes for a whole week.

Well, some people were.

“Ugh, I don’t _want_ to go to another class. Why do _you_ get to be free from classes already and _I_ don’t.” Jean whined, dragging his feet as they walked together through the courtyard.

“Because I don’t have three classes today, unlike _some_ people.” Marco teased, earning himself another loud groan from the blond.

Jean grumbled into his yellow and orange scarf, wrapping it tighter around his neck. “That’s fuckin’ stupid and also dumb.”

“Such is life.” he grinned, bumping into Jean as he walked.

Looking up at the barren trees, he inspected their jagged brown branches. Their leaves had long since fallen off, and now littered the ground in different shades of browns, oranges, and reds. The sky was covered by a thick white blanket, and Marco shivered against a gust of wind that bit through his jacket.

Winter was coming fast; he felt it in the air that grew colder and colder every day. He couldn’t wait for those empty trees to be filled with piles and piles of snow, and to see _Christmas decorations_ line the streets. He was excited to find out what Trost looked like during winter. Marco always felt absolutely giddy when he thought about the upcoming holiday season. Thanksgiving? What Thanksgiving? There’s only twinkling lights and catchy music and homemade cookies and _Christmas_ ahead of them.

Marco turned back to Jean, and started back up the conversation. “Why did you want to take French, anyways?”

Jean probably wasn’t expecting that question, if the falter in his steps were anyways to go by. “Huh? Why did I take _French?_ Where’d that come from? _”_

“Well, your third class is French isn’t it? I was just wondering if there was a reason you picked it or if it was completely random.” he reasoned.

At first, all Marco heard was the scuffling of their sneakers against cement over the chatter of student. Some retreated to the parking lot while others trudged to _another_ class to receive _another_ hour of lecturing. But when he spared Jean a glance, it didn’t look like he was ignoring him; rather, he was just very deep in thought. His brows were furrowed, and it almost looked like he wasn’t even seeing what was in front of him. But he wasn’t in the way of any immediate obstacles, so Marco leisurely walked beside him and waited for him to sort out his thoughts.

“My dad.”

He couldn’t say that he expected the answer. “Your Dad? Did he make you take French?”

Jean shook his head, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “No, I chose it out of my own will. My dad—he grew up in France. He was French, if that wasn’t obvious already.” Marco nodded, showing he was still listening.

“He...really loved his culture. He would talk about the unbelievably delicious food, the different people he would meet, and even how beautiful the language was; things like that. But, if I had to pick a thing he loved the most...it would definitely be the nature. Everything is so beautiful in France, at least from what I had heard from him. My dad used to be a painter, and whenever he picked up his brush he always turned to France’s scenery first. The grasses he painted were so green and the flowers were so vibrant and clear that you almost felt like you were right there.

"I want to be able to paint like him someday, y’know. I want to be able to paint something I love _so much_ , that I can’t help trying my damndest to make it perfect just so I can get everyone to see what I experienced.

“My dad isn’t, exactly, around anymore. And since French culture was something so important to him, I kind of wanna...I don’t know, preserve it in his memory I guess? And I have to start somewhere, so here I am taking French 1 in college.”

Marco wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t expecting such a deep story and reason behind taking a class. At first, he assumed that Jean’s Dad had simply abandoned his family, but by the time he was finished talking it was painfully obvious that wasn’t the case. And all he could do was nod while a small lump formed in his throat.

He scanned Jean’s face, afraid that he would find tears rolling down his weather beaten cheeks. But instead of the devastation he expected, he found a gentle fondness with only a twinge of sadness. A small smile even graced his face, and Marco freed his shoulders from their stiff position at the sight of it. He was glad that Jean wasn’t overwhelmingly upset; he had no _idea_ how he would be able to console him if he was. The closest thing to losing a family member he’d ever experienced was when his pet cat Sprinkles ran away.

But this was a completely different kind of loss. No amount of lost poster signs could bring his dad back, and from the way Jean spoke of him it seemed like they were really close. Marco couldn’t _begin_ to imagine losing someone like that. And the fact that Jean could smile at his dad’s memory instead of becoming overtaken by sorrow proved just how strong his best friend was. A spark of admiration was lit inside of him, and he was overwhelmed by how proud he felt of Jean.

Marco also realized that this was the most he’d ever heard about Jean’s past. It was something he had quickly found out the blond didn’t like talking about, so he had put it to the back of his mind until Jean would mention something it again.

The fact that Jean told him about his dad meant that he was trusting him more, and that made him feel ridiculously bubbly and happy. Marco made sure to remember this moment, and bit back a smile that threatened to sneak up on him. He didn’t want Jean to think he was making fun his reason for taking French, after all.

Before he knew it, they had arrived at the looming language building, several exhausted students trudging through the double doors. Jean began to follow suit, but at the last second he turned around and threw Marco a small, shy wave before turning back and heading off to his final class of the day.

_So cute...!_

But now wasn’t the time to be fawning over Jean. He had quite a bit of packing to do if he wanted to get on the road early tomorrow morning.

.

..

...

It was just as Marco finished tossing a flurry of clothes into his bag that Jean came home from his French class. Everything was mostly together, but there were a few last minute things he had to pack before he was officially ready for Winter Break.

The creaking of their front door and the heavy discarding of Jean’s bag was what finally caught his attention. He stood up and greeted him. “Hey, how was class?”

The blond walked over to his bed and rolled onto his mess of blankets and sheets, groaning. “Fine, glad it’s finally over though. Sweet, sweet freedom at last.”

Jean seemed really exhausted, so Marco let him be while he stuffed a few more things into his bag; his laptop, a toothbrush, some deodorant, and the homework that a few teachers assigned over the break. He internally debated on whether he should bring it now or just wait until he gets back, but he knew the latter choice would be a fatal mistake on his part. So with a look of distaste, he zipped up the offending papers into his suitcase.

Meanwhile, Jean had been watching him the whole time through the crook of his elbow. But for now, his gaze seemed to be stuck on the bag he had just closed.

“Hmm? What is it?” Marco muttered distractedly, double-checking he had everything he needed.

“Wassat for?” he asked, words muffled by his arm. His eyes switched between looking at the brunette and the suit case, an eyebrow quirked in question.

Ah, that’s right. Marco forgot to tell Jean about where he was going. “It’s for tomorrow. During the break I was gonna leave to spend Thanksgiving with my family.”

When he didn’t get a response, he looked over his shoulder out of curiosity.

And the sight sent a wave of concern through his body.

Jean’s face had fallen at his words, and suddenly the carpet seemed much more interesting to the blond than his mid-winter break plans. He looked extremely uncomfortable, and Marco cursed himself for making him feel that way. They had only recently gotten better; he didn’t want to mess it up _already_.

Crap. Fix this, Marco!

He took a steadying breath before trying again. “U-uh, are _you_...going anywhere?”

Jean paused before shaking his head tightly, furrowing his eyebrows and gripping the sheets beneath him. _He's_ _really upset..._

Panicking, Marco continued his trail of thought. “B-because if you’re not, I was just thinking maybe, uh...you have a Skype, right?”

A suspicious glance paired with a short nod.

“Good! Could I, like, have it?”

“...What for?” he hesitated, still not meeting his eyes. He really hoped this was a good idea.

The brunette scratched the back of his head, clearly showing his nervousness. “I was just wondering if, while I’m at Jinae for the week, if you would want to...video chat? O-or message each other or _something,_ so you won’t have to be all by yourself?”

A part of him still wasn’t sure if asking Jean to keep in touch with him was a good idea. Marco didn’t know how Jean dealt with his family during times like these; maybe he actually wanted to be left alone?

But the thought of Jean being the only one in their cold, empty dorm left him feeling uneasy and heavy-hearted. Marco wouldn’t be able to comfort him if he ended up needing someone since he would be miles and miles away.

Marco never thought he’d have such a hard time choosing between family and Jean.

Family has always been very important to Marco, so he didn’t want to just leave them behind. But he didn’t want his dormmate to feel abandoned either, so he thought that Skype would be a good compromise. It would be like he never left; he could still see him except he would look a lot more pixel-y. People Skyped all the time these days, and though the program had its many, many faults, it was a good way to talk to anyone.

Jean finally looked up from his spot on ground and into Marco’s nervous stare. Those eyes were clouded with sadness, anxiousness, and even anger he hoped was aimed at someone else. But shining through those emotions were tints of hope, and almost _happiness_ at his suggestion.

It took a while, but Jean finally let his lips slide upward. “Yeah, okay. That sounds...nice.”

Marco let out a sigh of relief, and his hand leaving his neck and falling back to his side. “Great! Um...let me get my laptop back out. I haven’t used Skype in a while so I don’t really remember my username.”

Jean grunted his approval, rolling over onto his back and staring at the bars lined up above him. He didn’t look as overwhelmed with emotions as he had been minutes ago, but the brunette could easily tell he was still thinking about something.

Pulling back out his laptop, he quickly logged onto the untouched program and miraculously managed to remember his username and password. He hadn't logged on since graduation, and even before then his account was used sparingly. He absentmindedly blew air out of his mouth as he navigated to his profile, and wrote down his username on a scrap piece of paper.

“Here! You can add me whenever you feel like it. I’ll be on the road for a while, since Jinae is pretty far. But if you add me soon, I can Skype you when I get there?” he suggested.

Jean sat up from his place on the bed and took the small note from his dormmate. He snorted, one corner of his mouth turning up when he read it. “ _MarCocaCola?_ ”

“Hey, give me a break! I was like 15 when I made this account.” Marco cringed, moving his laptop back into his suitcase. Additionally he packed his webcam and headset alongside it. “And I bet yours is just as bad.”

“Bullshit, it’s a fantastic name.” he defended

Marco rolled his brown eyes. “If you’re _so sure_ that’s it’s a great name, then what is it?”

“You’ll just have to wait until I add you.”

“Whatever you say, Jean.”

\---------------------------------------------------

The next morning came in a flash, and despite how much he was looking forward to seeing his family, there were two things he wished he could do without.

The unbearably long drive and leaving Jean behind.

They both stood by Marco’s car; a 2000 white Toyota Camry that his parents got him for his 17th birthday. Jean insisted that he help put his one bag into his trunk. He didn’t see what there was to help with, but he wasn’t about to complain. Even so, Jean also wanted to see him off before they didn’t see each other for a week. He didn’t try to deny how happy it made him.

Closing the trunk with one hand, he turned around and faced Jean who was staring off to the side, still in his pajamas. But the sound of the trunk seemed to be his cue to turn back to Marco. It was pretty cold that morning, and Jean was visibly shivering in his sweatpants and t-shirt. Marco gave him a sympathetic look, and walked up before coming to a stop right in front of him.

Jean’s hair was still a mess too, since he’d only run his fingers through it a few times before leaving their dorm. Said friend tried to stifle a yawn, but a small squeak escaped regardless. It made Marco feel oddly happy that despite how tired Jean was, even without having his coffee of the day yet, he still wanted to come out here and see him off.

Without further hesitation, Marco wrapped him in a tight hug. It took a second, but the blond finally hugged him back and didn’t let go.

 

This was the first time since they met that they'd be apart for so long, and even though he'd gotten by just fine the first 18 years of his life he knew this was going to suck.

Neither of them could find the heart to pull away first. His body was always abnormally warm, and since Jean’s felt so cold in his arms, they could stay like this a little longer, could they?

Though this wasn’t the first time they’d hugged, this _was_ the first time they’d held onto each other for so long. Marco was reluctant, but he figured he should let go soon unless he wanted to make things awkward for them. It seemed that didn't matter, because when he did neither of them could look the other in the eye. Marco hoped he could blame his blushing face on the cold weather. And even if there wasn’t anyone to witness their long embrace, they still felt pretty embarrassed.

“GET A ROOM!”

“Connie, they already _have_ a room!”

“Shit, you’re right. USE YOUR ROOM!”

At least they thought there wasn’t anyone.

Thing 1 and Thing 2 were standing by the building’s large entrance. Both of them had tossed on scarves and hats, but by some backwards logic neither of them were wearing a jacket. Sasha was devouring two breakfast sandwiches and a hash brown, its visible heat showing how fresh they were. Connie, however, was suggestively waggling his eyebrows at his two friends.

“ _Con?_ _Sash?_ Why are you guys still here?!” Jean squawked, stepping farther away from his Marco. The freckled student greeted them with a nervous wave.

“Dude, it’s like fuck-all in the morning. The only one crazy enough to leave at...7:30 AM is Marco.” Connie pointed out, rubbing one of his tired eyes.

After recovering from the initial shock, Jean switched to a scowl. " _Okay,_ but  _why_ are you out here then? Get your asses back in bed or something."

"We sah 'ou guy' ou' 'here, 'o we wan'ed 'o 'ay hi!" she chimed in, her mouth full of food making her barely understandable.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, it's disgusting." Jean grimaced, stepping away from her. She stuck her mush coated tongue out at him, and the blond cringed at the sight. "Fucking nasty."

Connie ignored their arguing and walked over to Marco. "But seriously, why are you going so early?"

The man in question simply shrugged. “It’s a long drive.”

Sasha finally swallowed her food glanced over at his white car. “Oh? Where ya off to?”

“Jinae. It’s where I grew up. Normally Thanksgiving dinner is hosted at my house, so ‘Ma always needs help cooking everything, which means I’ve got to get there kind of early too. I wonder if I’ll need to stop by the store before I get there...” He mused aloud, pulling out his phone to text ‘Ma and ask.

But while Marco was distracted, Sasha went up and nudged Jean lightly. “You hear that? He’s handsome, fit as hell, a family man, _and_ he can cook.”

Connie’s eyebrows resumed their persistent waggling, and this time he joined in on his friend’s teasing. “Sounds a lot to me like _bo—”_

“SHUT UP!”

Marco jumped and looked up from his phone, blinking rapidly. Connie was poorly concealing his snickering behind his hand while Sasha howled with laughter, head tilted to the sky. Meanwhile, Jean’s face was looking a particularly bright shade of red as he scowled at the two of them. His fists were even clenched like he was ready to attack.

He looked between the three of them, confusion written all over his face. “Uh, what was—”

“Nothing! It’s _nothing!”_ Jean denied, emphasizing the last word with a swift elbow to each of their stomachs. Their laughter was quickly replaced with pained groans.

Marco’s confusion only intensified, and he looked at his hunched over friends with concern. He _knew_ he missed something big, but it didn’t look like anyone was going to speak up any time soon. “O...kay?”

Jean cleared his throat a few times, shifting his weight from side to side. He ran his hands through his hair again, which was probably a habit he picked up from Marco over the months. “ _Anyways,_ don’t you have to get going?”

The brunette unlocked his phone, and widened his eyes at the time. “Shoot, you’re right! If I wanna make it there in time to make a stop to the store _and_ cook the dinner, I’ve gotta leave right now. Sorry!”

Giving his dormmate another quick hug, he jogged to his car door and slid inside. Once the car was started, he rolled down his window and waved goodbye. But as he drove out of the parking lot, he saw Jean scolding his two friends and overheard snippets of their conversation.

“— _end material?_ Are you fucking kidding me!?”

“Well it’s not like I _lied_ or anythi—ow! Stop hitting me!”

Seriously, what the hell did Marco miss in the last few minutes?

\---------------------------------------------------

The drive was long and arduous, just like he’d imagined. Road after identical road passed behind him, a river of dashed white lines and concrete. He was absolutely  _sick_ of seeing the same thing over and over again. There weren't any beautiful trees or blinding city lights where he was driving. No, all he got was a face full of asphalt, dead grass, and the occasional small bush. At this rate he was afraid he might fall asleep behind the wheel, but the fear of getting into an accident kept him awake enough.

But soon enough the boring grey lanes melted into more familiar territory. Marco had physically sighed in relief when he finally recognized his home’s exit sign, for he knew his trek was almost over. Flicking on his blinker for the first time in miles, he slowed down and entered the familiar roads of his town in place of the never-ending highway. Marco knew a grocery store that wasn’t too far from here, so he quickly changed his route from home to the market.

The parking lot was packed with people trying to do last minute shopping, so finding a spot was more than a little challenging. But after some time a family abandoned their parking spot, and he gratefully took their place. Pulling out his phone, he quickly reminded himself what ‘Ma needed from the store. Turning off the ignition and sliding out of the car, he let his body stretch for the first time in three long hours. Parts of him he didn’t even know could crack did when he arched his back. He extended his hands towards the sky and let out a satisfied groan when all his muscles were thoroughly stretched and all his bones popped. And with a sudden small burst of energy, he strolled into the wide building.

Large glass doors automatically slid open when he got close. Marco scanned the area in search of a small handheld basket, since she didn't ask for much. It was easy enough to spot, but when he went to grab one, another hand was also reaching for its handle.

He retracted his hand and looked up to sheepishly apologize to whomever it was, but stopped when he ended up recognized the person’s face. It seemed they were just as shocked to see him, too.

“Mina?”

“ _M-Marco?!”_ She gasped, looking first scared, then surprised, and then gleeful in the span of two seconds. She jumped up and wrapped her arms around his neck, laughing into his shoulder. “You’re back!”

Mina didn't look much different compared to a few months ago; the same black pigtails, same round eyes, and same short stature. She was also dressed in a thick tan cardigan that was just a little long for her, and a white knitted scarf was wrapped around her neck. She even paired it with a pair of dark blue jeans and sneakers, and the word ‘cute’ was the first word to come to mind.

Smiling just as widely as her, he returned Mina’s hug with a squeeze of his own “Yeah, I’m down here for break. I literally got here a few minutes ago.”

Finally loosening her hold, she examined him up and down before pouting. “Well why didn’t you _tell us_ you were? We would’ve planned a welcome back party or something!”

“Come on, you’ve known me for how long now? You guys don’t need to throw a party; it’s just me after all.” He dismissed. “But once I survive Thanksgiving I’ll be sure to plan something with you and Hannah and Franz...How are they by the way?”

Mina raised one of her thin eyebrows and grinned. “Do you even need to ask?”

Marco scoffed and laughed lightly at his silly question. “True. Those two have been total love-birds even before they got together.”

“Yeah, but they _are_ kind of cute, so I won’t burst their bubble.” She waved off, but then her demeanor switched to something a little more reserved or, dare he say, shy?

“I’m kind of the last person that should be talking though, since...”

Marco’s attention was successfully roped in, and he prodded her on. “Since...?”

“Since I...got a, boyfriend? Sort of?”

Suddenly, the freckled man was on high alert, feeling a mixture of excitement and protectiveness. “Sort of? What do you mean _sort of?_ You don’t just _sort of_ have a boyfriend! You got a _boyfriend?!_ Oh my  _god, Mina!_ How long have you been dating? Does he treat you right? Is he nice? Is he funny? Nerdy? Or is he mean? Or sexist? He better not be making you feel bad— _”_

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down Marco! I’m fine! He’s _fine_.” She reassured, raising her cardigan covered hands in surrender. The brunette was still bristling, the deathly grip on his basket making his knuckles go white. Still, she continued. “...Well, he’s _more_ than fine, actually. He’s _really_ cute, and he’s a total sweetheart...” she blushed, casually hiding her blazing cheeks behind her knitted scarf.

Marco finally realized people had stopped to stare at him, like he was some kind of freak show. Loosening his iron grip, he tried to reign in his emotions. He knew tended to get a little too... _fired up_ when it came to stuff like this, especially if it involved one of his friends. He felt like it was his responsibility to make sure that they received the best, and unfortunately rapid questioning was his way of going about it. “Sorry. I just want to make sure he’s worthy of such a great girl like you.”

Mina smiled understandingly, and gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “I know, Marco. It’s something both you and your mom do. But really, I’m okay, and he’s a good guy!”

Hearing her say it again only reassured him all the more. “That’s good. But—why didn’t you tell me about him earlier?”

“Well, you never really gave me a _chance_ to since you never texted me even once!” she cried out.

Ah, busted. He searched his brain for excuses, but none came to mind. Ashamedly, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, you know how bad I am at starting conversations.”

Mina scowled for a moment longer, but she shrugged soon after. “It’s not the end of the world. But now that I’ve confronted you about it, you’ve _got_ to actually keep in touch.”

“I promise I’ll try harder in the future.”

She seemed happier with his response, and with that she grabbed her own basket. “You’d better! Listen, I’ve got to hurry and grab a few ingredients. My dad’s making kugel, and he didn’t check to see if we had any egg noodles before he started cooking, so here I am.”

Marco could sympathize; his own mom had done the same to him on several occasions. And Mina’s Dad’s mistake thankfully reminded him why he came to the store in the first place. “Yeah, I’m here getting stuff for ‘Ma too. Good luck with your cooking! And make sure you bring some over sometime. Your dad makes the _best_ kugel.”

“I’ll be sure to save you guys a few pieces.” She laughed, and gave Marco one final hug before backing away. “Bye, Marco! I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yeah, definitely! And introduce me to your new boyfriend next time!” he shouted. Mina jumped before shyly covering her face and retreating into the nearest aisle.

Marco sighed contently; it had been a while since he’d had the chance to talk to Mina, and seeing her again reminded him that he was actually back in Jinae.

Speaking of that, he had to hurry and get home so he could help out ‘Ma. But as he turned to search for the right aisle, a giant blown up Santa Claus surrounded by inflatable reindeer stopped him in his tracks. A few twinkling lights and fake snowflakes had even been lain around it, making the display look that much more magical.

His eyes widened with childlike glee, and he almost made a beeline straight towards the decorations. But like the responsible adult he was, he kept himself in line and backed away from the display. They already had too many decorations at home as it was.

Unfortunately he retreated right into the sweet, Christmas themed candles that lined shelf after shelf. The smell completely enveloped him, and he melted into the mix of cinnamon, gingerbread, and artificial frosting that filled the air. Marco _loved_ the way candles smelled, and he felt like he could stay here forever...

Snapping out of it, he wiped off the blissful grin he didn’t notice was on his face until now. He _had_ to get out of here before it was too late! Turning around, he got a full ten steps away from it before he slowed to a stop. He could practically hear the decorations behind him _begging_ for him to turn back...

A little trip down the Christmas aisles couldn’t hurt, could it?

Marco scanned for any witnesses like Mina who could rat him out, and was relieved when he didn’t see her around. But a few families gave him odd looks and ushered their children away. He must seem pretty suspicious, after all. Quickly he made his way to the shelves stocked with twinkling lights, Christmas candies, gingerbread houses, and big stuffed teddy bears with even bigger bows on them.

He was _just_ going to look and see what they had in stock this year. _That’s it._

.

..

...

At last, he reached the house he grew up in and drove up his abnormally long driveway. It appears the town wasn’t the only thing that stayed the same in the past few months. He wasn’t sure why he expected it to; it's not like a few _years_  passed, though that’s certainly what it felt like. Looking the place up and down, he checked out the familiar abandoned scooter in the front yard and colorful potted plants lining the windowsills. And as soon as he turned off the ignition, a small girl ran out of the house, her long dark curls bouncing wildly behind her.

_“Marco!!”_

She didn’t even try to slow down, instead cushioning her collision with his larger body. Marco let out an exaggerated grunt of pain, and the freckled child beamed up at her older brother.

He smiled down at her and hugged her tight. “Hey, Myriam!”

“Welcome home, Baby Boo!”

Marco looked up from his little sister, and waved at the short freckled woman calling to him from the doorway. “Hey, ‘Ma!”

“Need any help with your bags?” she offered, and the brunette nodded gratefully.

“I don’t really have much packed, but I’ve got a _bunch_ of groceries. _I wonder why.”_

Eva Bodt slowly walked down the wooden steps of their porch and rolled her forest green eyes. Her long, brown hair was rolled up into bun on top of her head; a usual style she took to when she was getting ready to cook. “Well I wouldn’t have had you go if your _father_ didn’t forget half the things I asked for at the store. And I transferred money over for you to buy them, didn’t I?”

Marco shrugged, used to ‘Pa’s forgetfulness by now. When he was a kid, Marco would often be left behind in random aisles of the store only for ‘Ma to frantically ask where her baby was. His name became well known on the store’s intercom.

After peeling himself from his sister’s unrelenting grip, he unlocked the trunk so they could bring in the plastic bags. With the three of them it was a pretty easy trip, and soon ‘Ma was bringing in the last of the groceries.

When she placed them down however, the contents of the bag were revealed. “Marco?”

Marco had been carrying in his luggage when she’d called his name. Closing the door with his foot, he peered into the kitchen where ‘Ma was waiting. “What?”

“Did you buy more Christmas stuff again?”

Ah _crap_. She found the goods. Maybe he could still get away with it?

 _“Nnnnno?”_ he tried, shifting his glance all around the room. Myriam gave him a judgemental unimpressed stare.

Eva pulled out a box of colorful Christmas lights and a box of jolly rancher candy canes. “Then what is this?”

Marco slumped where he stood. “...Christmas stuff.”

“Uh _huh_.” She noted, and with a shake of her head put the decorations back in the bag and handed them to him. “Here, take your things and go unpack for a while. You can help me in a bit, but first relax a little. I know it was a long drive.”

The freckled man tilted his head at her. “Are you sure? I can still hold out for a while—”

“I’ll be fine, just come downstairs later. And we’ll need to make sure Uncle Rob doesn’t eat all the food before everyone else gets here.” She didn’t budge an inch in her decision, and it didn’t seem like she planned on it anytime soon either.

“Oh god, yeah.” he remembered. Last year he ate all the snacks before anyone knew they were there. And then he’d managed to make room for the feast they made, _plus_ dessert. Everyone in the house agreed to shun him that night. That man was a human garbage disposal if he ever met one.

Marco jogged up the stairs, carrying his stuffed suitcase with both hands. He could barely see where he was going, but that hardly mattered when he’d traversed these stairs countless times. At the end of the hallway would be his old room, and once he kicked open the door he set the bag down onto the ground.

Finally, he could look around his empty room for the first time in a while. He grew up in this place. For 18 years he slept in this room, laughed in it, sang in it, even cried in it. But now that the walls were stripped of his posters and his old desk was void of his belongings, it looked like it belonged to a stranger.

He started unpacking by pulling out his computer since it was on top. He also wanted to be able to talk to Jean as soon as possible, but that was besides the point.

He figured he could deal with picking out his clothes from his bag while he was here, so instead of hanging everything up he plopped onto his bed. He soon decided it was strange not having the ceiling a few feet from his head anymore. Plugging it into the wall, he waited for his old laptop to start up.

After an eternity, he finally managed to get Skype loaded and logged on. And waiting for him under “pending contact requests” was what he assumed was Jean’s account.

_Today_

_JeanTheDestroyer would like to add you on Skype  
Hi, I’d like to connect with you on Skype._

_9:39 AM_

_[ **Accept** ]                                                          **Decline**_

_MarCocaCola has shared contact details with JeanTheDestroyer._

_12:17 PM_

            **_MarCocaCola:_** So this was the “fantastic” name I waited over 5 hours for?

            **_JeanTheDestroyer:_** stfu it’s way better than marcocacola

 

Jean had answered surprisingly fast. Marco must have messaged him right when he got online.

 

            **_MarCocaCola:_** Shush, I already know how embarrassing it is! > : (

                                         Anyways, did you want to video chat now?

 ** _JeanTheDestroyer:_** sure why not

 

Marco moved the laptop further in front of him while he leaned over to grab his webcam and headset from his bag. When he managed to obtain it without leaving his bed, he quietly mumbled “Parkour.”

Plugging in his headset first, he slid it on as he got everything else ready. He was just adjusting the camera when the old notification popped up on his screen.

**_JeanTheDestroyer calling..._**

**_  
_** Marco didn’t see the harm in accepting the call already, so he clicked the green button on his screen and went right back to adjusting the camera.

Jean wore an expression that _screamed_ boredom but  _good lord where is his shirt?_

He had no idea why, but his dormmate was completely topless. Had he just gotten out of the shower? It wasn’t the first time he’d seen his best friend’s torso, but _did he always look this good?_

He quickly averted his eyes and distracted himself by adjusting his camera. Because if he didn’t stop staring now, he knew he would get caught, and would be no way for him to explain himself.

As revealing as Jean was, Marco thought nothing of the way the collar of his loose t-shirt dipped down to show his collarbones. And he thought nothing when the bottom of his shirt rode up when he stretched his hands and arched his back, displaying the prominent ‘V’ on his lower abdomen.

Looking back to the screen, he noticed Jean had spoken out loud and immediately slapped his hand over his mouth. Marco tilted his head in confusion when no sound came out of his headset. Checking the settings, he realized the volume on his computer was turned all the way down. Quickly, he fixed that. “Sorry, what was that? I didn’t hear you, my computer was muted.”

Jean’s face grew incredibly red, and he frantically shook his head while keeping his mouth covered. The brunette hummed in question, but his dormmate only shook his head harder, hair flipping all over the place.

“Al...righty then?” he chuckled, unsure of why Jean was freaking out so badly. Maybe a change of subject will make him feel more comfortable? “So how long were Sasha and Connie there after I left?”

He seemed to have made a good decision if his sigh of relief was anything to go by. Jean flumped his hands down into his lap, but instead of answering the question, he unexpectedly let out a choked sound. Not only that, but his eyes were wider than dinner plates, and he almost looked like someone caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Marco, worried that his friend might have hurt himself, decided to ask about it. “Are you okay?”

“I’m _great!”_ he squeaked, and was it him or did his voice sound an octave higher than usual?

Jean scrunched his eyes closed as he nervously abused his pink lips with his teeth. Of course, as soon as the opportunity arose, his eyes betrayed him and strayed down to watch him even though he said he wouldn’t. And Marco’s body grew extremely warm at just how _flustered_ Jean looked. His breathing was definitely uneven, and the longer Marco stared the more the red in Jean’s face began to spread to his chest. Shakily, it rose up and down in a way that was incredibly hypnotic.

Releasing his wet, shiny lip, Jean gaped silently for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh. His breathing was gradually growing quicker and more audible, and the more Jean struggled to act normal the more the blond squirmed in his seat. All of this seemed so incredibly... _erotic_ , and he couldn’t stop staring with both fascination and longing. His mind didn’t stop to think about what he was doing; all he wanted to do was focus on _Jean._ And when Jean’s breath hitched, he couldn’t help the jolt that went straight to his—

**_BANG BANG BANG!_ **

Both of them jumped about 50 feet into the air at the sudden pounding on his door, and Marco frantically clutched at his chest. He’d long since gotten used to the random intrusions, but he was a little...occupied at the time.

What _was_ that? What was he even _doing,_ ogling his crush like that when he knew the feeling wasn’t mutual?

Without waiting for his response, the person on the other side of the door barged in and upon fixing her sight on him, immediately folded her arms in irritation.

“ _Marco!_ You _just_ got home after being gone for months, and the first thing you do is go on the _computer?_ What the _heck!”_ Myriam complained.

The criticized brother shrugged in response, stealthily placing one of his pillows on his lap. Anything he felt earlier was immediately killed at the sight of his little sister, and he switched into ‘big brother mode’.

Marco's eyes nervously switched between watching his computer to watching Myriam. She walked over to him with her arms still crossed, and leaned forward with a scowl to see what was so interesting on his screen.

She hopped back in fright when she was met with the eyes of a stranger, and immediately her demeanor changed. She became more timid, more reserved, and her folded arms seemed to wrap around herself more.

The blond cleared his throat, and Marco noticed at some point he’d thrown on a shirt. His face had even begun to restore to its natural color. “W-Who’s the kid?”

Adjusting his speaker settings so she could hear him, he placed the headset in front of him. Then with a mischievous grin, he pulled her over until she was in full view of the camera. She let out a small squeak, and wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

“This little Munchkin is my sister Myriam. I think I told you about her a long time ago, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you forgot.” He introduced.

She reluctantly met his gaze, and gave him a once-over before leaning up and whispering something in Marco’s ear. He burst out laughing at her comment, while Myriam went back to casting her judgmental look at the screen.

“ _What?_ What did she say?” Jean demanded, and Myriam’s eyes widened at his angry voice. She went back to staring downwards.

“She just—she said your hair looks like someone, didn’t finish the job!” he laughed between breaths, trying to muffle his laughter with his palm.

Jean self-consciously ran his hand down his undercut. “Hey, back off. You’ll never know the velvety softness that comes with this hairstyle.”

Myriam shrugged and went silent again. Jean's angry tone earlier had definitely scared her off. He gave Marco a silent plea of ‘What do you want me to do?’ when she showed no signs of talking again. He couldn't help him out here; Myriam was hopelessly shy around strangers,  _especially_ so around adults. And unfortunately for him, he happened to be a combination of both.

“Ah...how old are you now?”

This piqued Myriam’s interest, and she looked up at the screen with a small smile. “I’m almost 10 years old. I went into 4th grade this year.”

His sister had always been proud of her growing age, and he couldn’t help but smile at how impressed Jean looked. “What, _really?_ My bad, I could’ve sworn you were an _adult_ , what with how polite and mature you are.”

A glint appeared in her large brown eyes. “I’m...mature?”

“Yep, _way_ more mature than your big brother over there.” He gestured with a tilt of his head.

 _“Hey!”_ he cried out, and Myriam laughed at Jean’s teasing. Marco was surprised that he managed to get her to smile, let alone laugh like that. He's pretty good at talking to kids. It makes him wonder if maybe Jean has a little sister too?

By now his friend’s face went back to its regular shade, and he’d relaxed enough to lean his head in his hand. A lazy smile spread across his face, and Marco thought that was definitely a nice look for him.

Myriam began twirling a section of long curly hair with her finger.

“You know, your hair’s really curly. Do you...get that from your mom? Or from your dad?”

 “...My dad.” She finally answered, and Jean made a surprised sound.

“Really? I was guessing you got it from your mom. Then do you get your freckles from him too?”

Myriam seemed surprised at his genuine curiosity, but she answered him regardless. “No, I get those from my mom. She has a lot of them on her face and arms and stuff.”

“Oh?” he hummed, looking from Myriam and back to Marco before keeping his gaze there. And all of a sudden a wide, prince-like smile spread over his features. His eyes crinkled at the edges, and his cheeks had become tinged pink once again. “Looks like both of you got her beautiful freckles, huh?”

Marco let out a choking sound, and his little sister squeaked.

“J-Jean?! What are you _talking_ about!—”

“I—um! A-Ah Wha??—”

Jean tilted his head innocently, though he knew he was being anything but. “I _mean,_ I think your freckles suit the both of you. They’re cute.”

At the same time, both of their faces grew red from the bottom up like a thermometer. Their “cute” freckles had become entirely hidden by their panicked, flushed faces. Myriam flailed her hands in front of her, searching for the words to say to Jean, while Marco was hunched over with his face in his hands. His sister had never been good with flattery, and, well, he had his own reasons for his heart beating a mile a minute. His dormmate seemed to be getting a kick at their torture, tilting his head back to the ceiling as he howled with laughter. Peeking through his fingers, he saw Jean’s entire body shaking with joy at the sight of their suffering. Marco felt like his cheeks could start a forest fire, and when he looked over to Myriam he was sort of glad she looked just as flustered.

Having enough of this torment, the small girl took action by grabbing Marco’s hand and pulling him away. “W-W-W-We have to go now! Dinner and stuff, so, um...bye, John!”

He couldn’t agree with her escape plan more, and he quickly waved before being dragged from his computer.

“Hey! It’s not John, it’s _Jean!_ IT’S _FRENCH, YOU LITTLE GREMLIN!”_ he loudly corrected, and Marco snorted as he imagined the face he was probably making.

The both of them ran down the stairs, various picture frames on shelves shaking from their recklessness. Once they reached the bottom, they came to a stop and slowly slid down the wall that lined the staircase.

Myriam was the first one to speak up. “Your friend is...r-really something, huh?”

The freckled man faced her and ran a shaky hand down his cheek. “You have no idea.”

Eva, thoroughly irritated, emerged from the kitchen with a plastic spatula in her hand. “What on _Earth_ are you two doing?!”

Both he and Myriam flinched. ‘Ma was normally a kind woman who constantly worried about her children. But when somebody got on her bad side, they both knew the tiny 5 foot mother was to be feared.

“Marco’s friend was being weird.” She mumbled into her forearm.

With a suspicious quirk of her eyebrow, ‘Ma began questioning Marco faster than he could keep up with. “Weird? What was he doing? Who is this boy she’s talking about? Do I know him? Is he being rude to Myriam? Is he being rude to _you?_ Marco, who is he?”

“'Ma, slow down! If you give me a minute, I can tell you all about him. Here, why don’t we talk about him while I help you cook?” he offered, hands raised in surrender.

After a moment’s hesitation she gave in, offering her small hands to help her son up. Myriam took this time to retreat into her own room, trying to rub the blush off her face the entire way up.

Plenty of ingredients were sat on the counter of his home’s kitchen. From green vegetables to cartons of eggs to bags of un-sifted flour, all the things needed to make an excellent Thanksgiving dinner were laid out all around him. He thoroughly washed his hands before grabbing his usual apron; it was all white with two frosted cupcakes around it, with the saying “You Can’t Buy Happiness, BUT You Can Buy Cupcakes, and That’s Kind of the Same Thing” written in blue lettering.

He slowly closed the drawer to his apron, and after looking around for a bit he was hit with the realization of how much he missed his home. The familiar paintings on those deep orange walls were the same ones he would stare at every morning during breakfast. The fridge was the same regular family sized one with old photos tacked up by various magnets. Even the toaster that had been broken for years since he’d poured juice into the top as a kid was still displayed in its corner of shame. A fond smile spread on his face as he took in everything he’d been missing in the past few months. He supposed he didn’t really have time to think about it when he had Jean by his side.

“So who is this boy Myriam was talking about?”

Marco’s heart sped up in his chest. He knew she didn’t mean it like that, but the way she said it almost made it feel like she already knew. She must have somehow figured out how badly he was crushing on his friend, and she was here to inspect both Jean and him.

He tried not to betray his internal worries. “He’s my dormmate.”

A kind smile replaced her skeptical glances, and she clasped her hands in front of her. “Oh, _him!_ I completely forgot to ask about him! What’s his name?”

_Don't worry. Everything is going fine. It's just a simple question._

Needing something to do with his hands, he went and pulled the apron over his head before tying it behind his back. “His name is Jean. Jean Kirschtein.”

“Jean Kirschtein...Is that German?” she asked.

He shook his head once. “No, French. His dad’s side of the family was from France, and it’s a big part of his life.”

Eva sauntered over to the sink and quickly rinsed her hands. “Is that right? Sound’s nice.”

Marco nodded again, smiling when he thought about yesterday after class. He’d only just learned this fact about Jean himself, but he felt glad that he was able to boast his family heritage for him. He bet if ‘Ma got to know him she would love Jean too.

“Is he a nice boy?” she worried, cracking a few eggs into a large bowl and beating them.

“Well, I...guess so? It’s really hard to tell sometimes.” He admitted, leaning his back against the edge of the counter.

This answer didn’t sit well with her, and she stopped mixing to look up at her son with concern. “You _guess_ so? I don’t know how I feel about that, Baby Boo. Does he make you feel bad?”

“No no! It’s not that, it’s just...” he trailed off, scrunching his brow in thought.

How could he describe Jean to her in a way she would understand? How could he explain the things he made him feel? How on _earth_ could he explain that Jean wasn’t just a dormmate to him; he was home, just as much as this place was?

He would just have to ramble and see where that took him. Taking a breath, he looked his ‘Ma in the eye and prepared to say what was on his mind.

“He isn’t _really_ mean, ‘Ma. He’s just...kind of crabby sometimes. But he doesn’t mean any real harm by it; it’s just how he is. I can guess that a lot of stuff has happened to him, some things I don’t even know about yet. He probably won’t tell me for a long time, but I’m okay with that, because I care about him. I’ll let him do things at his pace, not mine.

"But despite all of it, he’s still _here_ , and he’s standing strong and tall, like he isn’t going to let anything break him down. And once he lets you take off that heavy armor he wears, there's a soft and gentle guy who you just really want to know.

So no, he’s not mean. He’s just a little rough around the edges, you know? Beneath that 'tough guy' façade is a nice and caring person, and he’s always there for people when they need it.”

He's only reminded of it when he's speaking, but now he thinks he knows what Sasha meant when she said that him being an asshole was only hiding his 'soft mushy interior'.

Eva seemed thoroughly surprised that Marco would defend his dormmate so strongly. But soon her face changed to one of pure mischief. Gone was the courage he had mustered up, and replacing it was the need to run away as fast as possible. He couldn’t meet her eye for more than a second because he knew she knew, but he couldn't stop talking.

“A-And not only that, he’s funny and sarcastic and smart and a _great_ artist ‘Ma you have no idea. I—I honestly think he’s the best friend I’ve ever had. He really cares about me, and I really care about him. He’s a good guy! S-so there’s nothing you need to worry about from him!” he stammered.

Her crow’s feet were especially prominent as she gave her son a sneaky smile.  Marco tried to copy the gesture, but he was sure his looked much more wobbly and unconvincing.

“Ooh? Sounds like you _like_ this boy a lot.” She teased, and the freckled man refused to meet her stare, because he was sure to give in to peer pressure if he did.

Avoidance was the best course of action here. “Of course I like him; he’s my best friend after all! Who would dislike their best friend?”

It wasn’t like he lied, right? He _was_ his best friend, and technically he _did_ like him, just...a little more than he was leading on.

‘Ma was a very accepting person, and when Marco came out to her back in middle school she welcomed him with open arms. Though she wasn’t the least bit surprised; her intuition told her he didn’t entirely swing one way, and at that point she was just waiting for him to come to her. Explaining what pansexual meant was a bit of a ride, but once she got the hang of it the teasing never ceased. It was as if she was on a never-ending mission to find him a partner, and though he appreciated the enthusiasm, it made for a lot of awkward situations.

And Marco could tell her intuition told her he wasn’t telling the entire truth. He braced himself for another barrage of questions.

“Will you go wash and chop up this celery for me, Marco?” she asked, holding out a stalk for him.

The freckled man’s owlish eyes blinked several times as if coming out of a trance. She wasn't going to keep asking? “O-oh, sure.”

Looks like she’s gonna wait for him to tell her himself again, huh?

He dashed over to the counter, quickly running the water over the leafy vegetables. And just as he transferred it to the cutting board, the front door opened and slammed closed.

A familiar booming voice echoed throughout the house. “I’m back from the store!” it announced.

Raymond Bodt stood at the archway separating the dining room and the kitchen, arms carrying several heavy looking bags of goods. Oddly enough the scene reminded him of the first time he and Jean had gotten to know each other, after he got his ass handed to him by Professor Levi. That seemed like so long ago to him, but in actuality it had only been a couple of months. Time really does fly, huh?

“Marco! Welcome home, College Boy!” he greeted, placing down the plastic bags to give his son a big hug.

Unlike ‘Ma, ‘Pa was a very large, very _hairy_ man, towering at 6’3”. And as a very large man, he gave _bone crushing_ hugs that Marco had learned to get used to over the years. He’d finally figured out a place to put his head so he wouldn’t be assaulted by all of his bushy facial hair. But he still squeezed almost all of the air out of him, and he gave his loving Dad a pained smile. It was all his own way of showing his affection, so he couldn’t complain much.

“Good to see you too, ‘Pa.” he wheezed, and Raymond finally released him from his iron hold.

During their heartfelt reunion, Eva strode up to the bags on the counter with a suspicious look. Going through its contents, a look of disbelief overtook her features.

“Honey?”

“Yes?”

“Did you buy more Christmas stuff again?”

Marco looked over to ‘Pa, his bearded face frozen in a stiff smile.

 _“...No?”_ he denied, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Eva pulled out an extra large red and white tacky Christmas sweater with a felt tree and real ornaments on it. Along with it she revealed a stuffed Santa doll and, surprise surprise, _another_ box of Christmas lights. “Then _what_ is _this?”_

Raymond’s arms fell to his side as he slumped where he stood, while Marco tried to hold back his snickering. “...Christmas stuff.”

“Uh _huh_.” She sighed, putting everything back in their bags and shoving them at her husband. “You two and your obsessions with Christmas. The _last_ thing we need in this house is more lights! We could light up the whole town with how many we have!”

Marco pouted at her complaints, sticking out his tongue defiantly. “My dorm doesn’t have any decorations yet, so it’s okay!”

At the news, ‘Pa looked at him with a mix of pure happiness and surprise. He quickly stomped over and clapped a defeated hand on his son’s shoulder.

“You couldn’t resist the Christmas aisle either, huh?”

“I didn’t have a chance when I laid eyes on that giant blow-up Santa.”

Both of them burst out laughing, his bubbly giggles mixed with his father’s booming guffaws. Eva simply shook her head with a smile on her face, as if she was saying 'What am i going to do with you two'. It’s happened every single year; he and ‘Pa were _crazy_ about Christmas. From decorations to desserts to snow and to sweaters, they loved every single part of it.

All the commotion brought Myriam down from her room, and he only laughed even harder when all she had to do was look at the counter and sigh because she knew. She knew what they had done.

_Yeah, he definitely missed home._

.

..

...

It didn’t take long for the house to become filled with various family members. People of all ages and even those he hadn’t seen in years showed up for the Bodt family’s annual Thanksgiving feast.

They all sat around a couple of tables they had pushed together, and plates of delicious homemade food were lined down the center. Cranberries, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, and ‘Ma’s famous Marshmallow salad were all quickly served on everyone’s plates. The heavenly smell it all gave off was only rivaled by the blueberry cobbler and pumpkin pie sitting in the kitchen, where it will soon be devoured. Smiles and laughter were shared with everyone, and each group was having their own private conversations. New stories brought on interested gasps, and old stories brought a knowing hum to the table regardless of how many times they’d heard it before.

Marco couldn’t help but wish Jean was here with him. It wouldn’t be so bad to have him laughing along with his family, teasing Myriam, and enjoying himself with the people that mattered to him the most.

Maybe one day he’ll have the courage to ask him to come with him. Even if it couldn’t be as a boyfriend, he still wanted Jean to meet them as his best friend.

“Hey, Earth to Marco! What’s got you all spaced out, kiddo?” one of his Aunts questioned.

He didn’t even notice he’d been staring out the window for some time now. His eyes probably looked glazed over, and people were starting to notice. Marco tuned back in to the present and gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m just kind of tired.”

The older woman returned his with a sympathetic one of her own. “Long drive down, huh?”

“Kind of, yeah.”

His cousin squeezed her girlfriend’s hip and smiled, nudging Marco playfully on the shoulder. “But you started college this year, right? Get into any trouble? Gave up on your classes yet?”

Unfortunately ‘Ma chose that time to tune into the conversation. “My baby wouldn’t get into trouble! And classes are _important,_ Katie. I didn’t raise him to be like that, he’s a good boy.”

“Oh come on, I bet he’s at the _very_ _least_ had some alcohol by now. What college student hasn’t?” she argued.

Eva gave her son a nervous, pleading look. “That’s not true...is it?”

It seemed like all eyes were on him, because they _were_. People had stopped their conversations and whispered to each other as they waited for the brunette’s answer. They had to know if Eva’s son, the perfect little angel they’d known growing up, had finally started acting like an adult. He felt himself grow nervous not only from their undivided attention, but because he had no idea how to get out of this situation. He _had_ drank before, several times actually, and if she found out about it he didn’t know what she’d do. And if she also discovered it was because of Jean, he feared her impression of him would be forever ruined. It also didn’t help that Marco was a terrible liar.

Yep, he was thoroughly screwed here.

_What the hell am I supposed to do!_

“I, uh. Well, I mean...n-no?”

_“MARCO L. BODT!”_

Everybody in the house _burst out_ laughing, startling awake the few babies present. ‘Ma was grabbing Marco’s shoulders and shaking him lightly, demanding to know how this happened to him. Katie was laughing her ass off in her chair, while her girlfriend gave Marco an apologetic look. He shot the former as harsh a glare as he could muster, but it only seemed to further her cackling. People around him were sending him a mixture of congratulatory whistles, surprised comments, and a few people had even begun to exchange money. _Did they place bets on whether he would drink at college?!_

Katie’s laughter finally died down into occasional giggles, and she waved her hand dismissively at ‘Ma. “It’s _fiiiiine Eva!_ The college life is tough shit! Sometimes you just need to relax with a cold beer and a friend, ya know? How else are you going to make it through those long-ass classes?”

Eva’s expression looked no less worried as she turned to her son. “When did you—”

“Heeey everyone! Why don’t we go into the kitchen and get some pie instead? Isn’t Eva’s pie the _best_ in the _world?”_ Katie’s girlfriend distracted, gesturing to the kitchen.

Unlike Myriam, ‘Ma was a complete sucker for flattery of any kind. “Oh _you._ It’s not the _best..._ but it is really good! Let’s all have dessert, I made plenty for everyone!”

All of Marco’s family members got up and left towards the kitchen, excited for the delicious blueberry cobbler and pumpkin pie that awaited them. His cousin’s girlfriend locked eyes with Marco and shot him an okay-hand-sign before joining the others in the kitchen.

He let out a long sigh of relief. Katie’s girlfriend had just saved him from a round of rapid-fire questioning from ‘Ma, one he wasn’t sure he would survive. She was an absolute _saint,_ that girl _._ Maybe he should try talking to her more often?

The freckled student didn’t even realize how long he’d been standing there, and he dashed towards the kitchen so he could grab some dessert before Uncle Rob ate it all. _Again._

.

..

...

Goodbye’s were drawn out for an eternity and a half, and as soon as everyone had finally gone home Marco laid his head down onto the table. He didn't even care that it was littered with empty plates and scraps. He hadn’t been forced to interact with that many people in a long time, and because of it he was _so tired_. The only thing he wanted to do was talk to Jean and curl up in a pile of his blankets until he fell asleep.

But the sound of dishes being gathered reminded him that he wasn’t quite home free yet. Pulling his head back up with a small groan, he rubbed his eyes before picking up a couple of plates. Marco wasn’t about to let ‘Ma do all those dishes herself.

Slowly the two of them cleaned up after the mess that everyone had made. You'd think the least they could do was bring their plates into the kitchen, right? Wrong. Eva and he were the ones left having to clean up, Myriam and Raymond having long since gone to bed.

Once everything was in the sink and what didn’t fit was stacked around it, he went to turn on the faucet to start washing. But he was stopped by a small familiar hand. Blearily turning his head, he couldn’t even grace her with a questionable hum.

She rubbed slow, soothing circles into her son’s back, and Marco let his eyes slip closed for a moment. It felt so _relaxing,_ and if he wasn’t careful he might fall asleep standing up like this. “Honey, you look absolutely beat. We can wash these dishes tomorrow, okay?”

That sounded like a _fantastic_ idea, and he let her know with a slow nod. It was still way too much effort to try to speak.

“I’m sure you’d much rather talk to _Jean_ , anyways.” She teased

Now, Marco may be exhausted beyond belief, but that didn’t stop his cheeks from burning and his heart from skipping a beat. And he couldn’t argue since she hit the nail on the head.

Letting her win this round, he trudged up the stairs without a single goodnight and went straight into his bedroom. His laptop was still sitting on his bed right where he left it, and he was no longer connected to a call with him. Jean must have ended it when they abruptly got up and left.

Squinting his eyes and looking at the time, he noticed it was 12:09 AM. Had he really been gone for that long? No wonder he felt so exhausted.

Jean’s status on Skype was set to away, but he silently hoped that he was awake.

_Today_

_**MarCocaCola:** _ Hey, you still up?

 

Not even a minute went by before he was met with a new message from him, and he smiled gently.

           

            **_JeanTheDestroyer:_** yeha

                                               *yeah

                                                welcome back btw

            **_MarCocaCola:_** Hahah thanks. : )

                                        You up for a call?

 

Marco figured his friend would respond right away, just like he had seconds ago. What he didn’t expect was to have a staring contest with the words “JeanTheDestroyer is typing...”. It would appear for a few seconds at a time before vanishing without a trace. And the longer it went on for, the more nervous he became.

Was...Jean okay?

What was he trying to say? What was so hard to type out?

He knew he was being paranoid, and that Jean was probably just fine. Maybe his connection wasn’t good, and he was just lagging really badly. Maybe he was just having a hard time typing without making a mistake because of how late it was? He knew he was struggling to stay upright himself, so it wasn’t unreasonable for Jean to feel the same way, right?

...Yeah, he was still worried as hell.

 

            **_JeanTheDestroyer:_** ok

 

That seemed way too short for how long he was typing. But without any further questioning, he slid on his headset and clicked the green button to start a call.

It took a second, and all he heard was the rustling of his microphone, but soon enough he saw Jean and his own small, relieved smile. “Hey.”

He followed his lead and turned on his webcam. “Hey, Jean.”

For one reason or another, he actually found the energy to form words. It was a good thing too; he didn’t want to leave Jean to have a one-sided conversation with him.

His dormmate had all the lights out so he had a hard time seeing it clearly, but if he wasn’t mistaken, Jean’s face looked a bit more flushed than usual. And his eyes almost looked...red around the edges. As if he had been crying recently.

Marco couldn’t hold back his concern. “Are you alright?”

Jean seemed surprised at Marco’s question, eyes widening slightly. But he soon looked off to the side, finding something else more interesting. He must have thought he wouldn’t be able to tell online.

The blond shrugged and reached for a can that he recognized as his favorite brand of beer. He took a long gulp from it, and after quickly emptying it he cracked a new one open with a hiss. “I guess.”

“How many of those have you had?” he wondered, pointing at the can in his hand.

He took a second to count. “...Three? No, four?”

So he must’ve just gotten started then. Which was a good thing; he didn’t want Jean to have to get drunk on his own. That just seemed too...lonely. And why did Jean look like he was crying earlier? Was something upsetting him? Was he—was he thinking about his family again?

Marco wished he was physically there with him. Then he would be able to hug him and tell him that it was going to be okay, that no matter what happened in the past he doesn’t have to worry anymore. Marco would be able to fall asleep next to him and make him feel safe and loved...

“You look really fuckin’ tired.”

Marco abruptly startled awake, inhaling sharply and groaning tiredly. When had he fallen asleep? He didn’t even remember his eyes sliding closed. The fact that he was laying down probably wasn’t helping him stay awake either. The brunette thought he was just daydreaming about being with Jean, but he ended up _actually_ dreaming.

He must be a lot more tired than he thought. Marco was glad his voice woke him up though, because he really wanted to keep talking to him. He had to stubbornly power through no matter what.

“It’s been a long day, you know?” he confessed.

“I can see why. You’ve been up since...what, 6:30 today?” Jean recalled, taking another sip of his beer.

Marco let out a sleepy hum of agreement, but aside from that he didn’t say much. There was a long stretch of silence between them, Marco nodding off and struggling to stay awake while Jean swirled the beer in his can. It was very quiet in his house, since everyone was likely passed out in their beds. Marco’s bed and soft blankets were extremely warm, and they were doing nothing to help keep him conscious. In fact they were probably making him fall asleep faster, but it was too much trouble to take them off...

“...Miss you.”

He still wasn’t sure when he closed his eyes, but they were certainly open now. Did—he just say what he thought he said?

No, it was likely he’d misheard him. The mind can play a lot of tricks when someone is this sleep deprived, including hearing things or making up conversations.

But...it wouldn’t hurt to make sure, would it?

Marco looked at Jean through the screen, and jumped when he found soft amber eyes staring steadily back at him. Even online, he could feel the emotions in his eyes running true.

There was no longer any doubt; Jean actually had told him he missed him.

And _god_ did it feel nice to hear those words.

It felt really, really good to be wanted by someone. It meant that Marco was significant enough in Jean’s life that he’d noticed his absence. There was a chance that he felt as incomplete without the brunette there. He wasn’t the only one who wished the other was with him, and this realization made him feel warm from his head to his toes. It wasn’t like the suffocating heat that came from embarrassment, though. It was a more comforting feeling, like soaking up the rays of a late afternoon sun. A loose smile spread on his face, and he felt his cheeks start to tingle.

How can such simple words bring such a feeling of happiness and contentment?

Maybe it wasn’t the words, but the person behind them that made him feel so loved.

Looking directly into the camera, Marco tried to put all the feeling he could into his next words.

“I really miss you too, Jean. I’ll be home soon, okay?”

Jean was raising the can up to his lips, but he froze when he registered what Marco had just said. He shyly covered his mouth to hide his reddening face, but this time he was sure it wasn’t from the alcohol.

Because Marco’s freckles were hidden by the same shade of red.

He’d accidentally called their dorm “home”, and there was no way Jean didn’t notice.

Marco had never admitted it out loud before, and he sure as hell didn’t want it to happen by accident. Sure, he’d thought about it plenty of times when he was with Jean, because he really _did_ make him feel like he was at home. But it ended up slipping out because he was feeling _really_ happy and he didn’t have a filter when he was tired and _he couldn’t believe he just said that oh my god._

All of these thoughts happened in the blink of an eye, and before Marco could backtrack he heard Jean speak up again.

“Not soon enough.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting that answer at _all._

Did—did he really not mind? Did he not understand what his words _meant?_ No, that’s impossible with the blonds’ reaction. He was just as flustered as Marco had been.

So was it okay to call it that? Was it possible that Jean of their dorm as home too?

Or maybe even...thought of _him_ as home?

_Don’t jump to conclusions now. You don’t want to read too far into things, or you might miss what’s right in front of you._

His warnings to himself didn’t stop his entire body from buzzing like a bee. _God,_ he felt so damn happy, and he didn’t want this feeling to end, but his eyelids felt _so heavy_ and he could hardly tell what was real and what wasn’t.

“I need to sleep.”

Jean scoffed at the obvious statement, a lopsided smile on his face. “Dude, you needed to go to sleep a long time ago.”

“Mm yeah.” He agreed, and looked as his best friend hopefully. “Six more days?”

Jean smiled that same princely smile from earlier, supporting his head in his hand. “Six more days.”

And those three words were all it took to send Marco into a blissful slumber. He didn’t even think about ending the call or turning off his webcam.

Jean’s words were like an unspoken promise. It was one that assured him that they would be together again soon. And he couldn’t _wait_ to keep it.

He couldn’t _wait_ to return to the nights where Jean was within arms-reach again.

And as much as he loved his family and Jinae, he couldn’t _wait_ to go back home.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, please leave a comment and tell me what you think! Your feedback is always appreciated <3


	13. All I Want for Christmas...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is here, and Marco is fucking pumped.
> 
> Jean? Not so much.
> 
> And what happened on Jean's end during Thanksgiving...?
> 
> Jean POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! FUCK it's been a long time i know i know i'm sorry, nearly two months later and I've finally shit out a new chapter. I've been writing like crazy this past week to make sure this gets posted. School makes it really hard for me to get any writing done, but i really wanted to get it out for you guys!
> 
> So a couple of things!
> 
> 1.) This fic has been changed to have 15 chapters! Technically the story is still 14, but i was like "Shoot how am i going to fit in the sex????" so chapter 15 will be an epilogue type chapter set at a time where their relationship has developed further and they do the sex. This way those of you who aren't comfortable with reading sex can skip it, and those who want it can read it!  
> 2.) I will absolutely 100% make sure that chapter 14 is out by December 24th, hopefully earlier. I am NOT letting this confession happen after Christmas i swear to god. So there's a little countdown to the last official chapter!  
> 3.) This chapter also goes between past and present, the past being Jean's side of Thanksgiving and the present being the Holiday Shenanigans these two get into. They will be separated by a line of asterisks, like this; *************. So know that that's what the asterisks mean! 
> 
> That's it! Please enjoy!

The entire time they walked through the frost-bitten town, Jean thought that Marco was going to literally piss himself from excitement. He talked about nothing but the things they would be doing, or the thing they would see, and while he was glad that his crush was excited, he definitely couldn’t say the same about himself.

After a half hour of walking, they finally arrived at their destination. Jean looked up at the looming building in front of him, dozens upon dozens of people flooding through the many entrances and exits. He grimaced as he scanned the area while his best friend practically vibrated beside him. Marco made the first move to step through the large glass doors, and Jean shortly followed suit, heading into the outlet mall.

Marco was decently far ahead of him, and began to jog backwards as if mocking him for how slow he trudged. Despite what a little shit he was being, the happiest and biggest grin he’d ever seen him make was plastered on his face, so bright he was nearly blinded by it. When the brunette finally faced forward and gasped loudly at the sight before him, Jean took it as his cue to inspect the place as well.

He heaved a long, heavy sigh.

To his left, a line consisting of exhausted parents and their hyper-active children stretched out farther than the eye could see. At the front of it all was “Santa”, which was _really_ a fat old stranger wearing a red and white suit. He sat down in a large, green, velvety throne, and let out a booming ‘Ho ho ho’ every now and again. Surrounding the man were several striped poles and a couple of decorated trees, small bright lights twinkling through their plastic pine leaves.

A young man with a forced smile was dressed up in an embarrassingly bright green costume, bells jingling with every step he took. He attempted to keep the children in line, but it was near impossible when no one could hear him over their ear-grating screaming. One kid quickly tottered to the old jolly-looking man and plopped himself in his lap, and eagerly told the man what they wanted this year. After another hearty laugh, a camera light flashed and blinded the blond temporarily, and as soon as they had gotten then it was already the next child’s turn to talk “Santa”.

And to his right, cardboard cut-outs of reindeer and snowflakes decorated every single _fucking_ wall. Even more lights were strung around the entrances of every store he came across. From what he could tell, their stock consisted entirely of sweaters and scarves and things to match the holiday.

Not to mention those people from the Salvation Army were _everywhere_ , constantly ringing an annoying bell and asking everyone to put money into their pitiable red buckets.

Not even the music was free from the transformation. Classic carols blasted throughout the mall, the playlist on a never-ending repeat. Families around him sung along with cheeky grins, and all he wanted to do was shove a snow globe in their mouths to silence them. Because if they didn’t stop soon, those songs would be stuck in his head and torture him for weeks on end.

This entire fucking building was trying to shove Christmas cheer down his throat, and _god_ was it irritating.

Pulling his phone from his jacket pocket as Marco fawned over everything, he examined the date and groaned. Jean wasn’t even sure why he bothered checking; he’d already known since 12:00 AM because of a _certain somebody._

It was _that_ time of year again

_December 1 st._

No longer could Jean shake his head at those _animals_ buying decorations in September, or _monsters_ who wore thick decorated sweaters in the heat of August. Hot cocoa was deemed socially acceptable, and the weather was too damn cold for the thin jacket he usually wore.

Jean shivered at the mere thought of having to go back outside later. Really, the only good thing that came from Winter was that people would stop questioning why he wore his scarves.

Usually he’d be cooped up in his dorm and sleeping the day away, trying to make December end sooner.

So why the hell was he here again?

“Jean! Jean _look_ , they’ve got the marshmallow Santa’s now! And those little hard candies shaped like snowflakes! I have to buy some _right now,_ oh my _god!”_ Marco beamed, face pressed against the display window.

Ah, yeah. That right. It was because of _him._

Marco had been excited about the holiday season even before December came along. For instance, right after he’d come home from his family’s house, the brunette pulled out boxes upon boxes of decorations that he’d bought back in Jinae. Lights, stockings, candles, candies; name it and he’d have five of them. He still has no idea how he fit it all in the limited space of his suitcase, but not even ten minutes later their dorm looked like the inside of Santa’s workshop.

But that pre-game excitement was nothing compared to what he was like when the month finally arrived. Seriously, he woke him up at midnight on a school night  _just_ to tell him it was time for Christmas.

Instead of playing along with his childish glee, Jean grumpily reminded him that they had classes in the morning. It was cute how excited he was, but Jean wasn’t about to suffer through three hours of lectures just because Marco wanted to celebrate 24 days too early.

When he’d shut down his Christmas cheer, Jean expected him to just go to bed and accept the “disappointing” reality.

What he _didn’t_ expect was for his dormmate to suddenly turn five years old and _keep him up._

.

..

...

“Hey Jean? Jean?” Marco bothered.

“...What.”

“Can we celebrate Christmas yet?”

Jean didn’t move a single inch. “It’s like, midnight. Just let me sleep.”

All was quiet for a few glorious minutes. But of course, it didn’t long.

“Hey Jean—”

“MARCO SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP.” he shouted, and he couldn’t be bothered to feel bad for his raised volume. He was tired, Marco was being annoying, and he just wanted to go back to sleep for god’s sake.

“ _Jeez,_ Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

Not even two seconds had passed before he opened his mouth again.

“Do you think snowmen have feelings?”

“I’m giving you one more chance to shut the hell up.” Jean warned.

Marco failed to listen to his threat. “Like I mean—”

So the only logical solution was to hit him several times with his pillow to get his message across. After he’d finished, Jean threw the pillow back onto his bed and yanked his blankets over his head.

“ _Wow,_ asshole!” Marco pouted, flopping back onto his bed.

All he got was a few precious seconds of silence.

His dormmate sat up and leaned over the edge of his bed to peek down at Jean. “When I say Santa, you say Claus. Santa!”

Maybe he’d stop if Jean just stopped responding.

“...Claus!”

_He finished it himself?!_

Marco sighed once, and finally made up his mind.

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Jean agreed.

“Okay I’ll stop.”

“Stop right now.”

“Okay after this.”

Marco sniffled loudly once. “After that.”

Then if that wasn’t enough, he cleared his throat obnoxiously, several times. Jean felt his jaw clench in irritation, and as if Marco could sense his anger he began to apologize. “Agh! Sorry okay I swear to god that was the last time, ever.”

Jean wasn’t sure why he actually expected him to _stay fucking quiet._

“When I say Santa, you say Claus. Santa!”

_Don’t play his fucking games._

“Claus! Santa—”

God _DAMNIT!_

Jean clumsily and furiously pulled himself up the side of their bunk, and gave Marco the most menacing glare he could muster if only to silence him. It had to have been absolutely terrifying considering how sleep deprived and _pissed_ he was.

He thought it might have worked, since his dormmate seemed to be quiet for a few minutes.

But as soon as he had the thought Marco began thrashing on his bed, kicking his blankets away from him and making the entire bed structure shake. The brunette’s mattress squeaked unbearably, and Jean could have sworn he felt his right eye twitch.

“I can’t get comfortable, this is ridiculous.” Marco complained.

“You’re like, the worst friend ever.” Jean mumbled into his arm, not even bothering to open his eyes.

“Do reindeer ever like wonder—”

Jean raised one hand in silence, even if Marco couldn’t see it. “If you don’t stop talking I will kill you. Literally I will like, rip your fucking throat out. Just shut the fuck up.” he growled.

“Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, _reindeer!_ ”

_I even threatened him with murder. MURDER. What the hell is it going to take to get him to be quiet?_

“Please stop.” he whined into his pillow, voice full of pain.

Marco switched to a whisper, but it was still loud as fuck with his hands cupped around his mouth. “Had a very shiny nose, _like a light bulb!_ ”

Jean tossed and turned under his blankets.

“And if you ever saw it, _saw it._ ” his voice got a little louder.

He buried his face in his pillow in hopes of blocking out those horrendous Christmas songs.

Marco didn’t hold back this time, his excited voice echoing all around the walls. “YOU WOULD EVEN SAY IT GLOWS, _LIKE A FLASHLIGHT!!!_ ”

At this point he was sure that Connie could hear him down the hall, and Jean’s fucking _had it._ He lifted up his legs and kicked underneath Marco’s mattress over and over again, the brunette bouncing on top like a fish out of water.

“GOD DAMNIT!” Jean roared, and threw his legs back against his mattress, still fuming.

But he wasn’t affected _at all_.

“Earthquake struck in Trost today.” Marco reported, peeking over the edge again.

And he kept going, too. “Vibrato; YOU WOULD EVEN SAY IT GLOWS, _LIKE A FLASHLIGHT!_ ”

Jean gave a loud frustrated groan into his pillow. “ _Pleeeeease stooooop._ ” he begged.

“...Baritone;—”

“ _MARCO._ ”

“YOU WOULD EVEN SAY IT GLOWS—”

“SHUT. UP.” Jean yelled, voice still muffled by his pillow.

“..... _LIKE A FLASHLIGHT!_ ”

“I will, kill you...I’m gonna...” the blond began, but he couldn’t finish. He was so tired, so desperate, and so _done_ that he just cut himself off. What was the point in arguing still? He wasn’t going to stop, and Jean was never going to get to sleep again. Ever.

“You’re gonna _what?_ ”

Jean wasn’t going to grace him with an answer.

“That’s a threat, you know. I could _report_ you to the _authorities?_ ” he mocked, his voice sounding nasally all of a sudden.

The irritated dormmate jumped onto Marco’s bed, tore him from his blankets, tossed them onto the floor, and jumped back down before angrily getting back into bed.

_Finally, some peace and quiet._

**_Ring_ **

What the...?

**_Ring Ring_ **

Is that—

The blond looked over his shoulder in anger and confusion, wondering what the hell his dormmate was doing now. Meanwhile Marco’s hand hovered just out of Jean’s line of sight, a Christmas bell just waiting to be rung again.

Instead of going for a third round of bells, he whined. “I’m _hungryyy,_ can we go bake cookies or something?”

Jean was practically falling off the bed at this point, but he couldn’t be bothered to fix his position. He wasn’t going to get back to sleep anyways. He’d given up.

“Dude! Since our parents aren’t here, since _‘Ma’s_ not here, I could totally eat cookies for breakfast.” he gasps.

That's _i_ _t._ Jean jerkily got out of his bed and looked him straight in the eye while he continued to talk. _Still talking, always talking about FUCKING Christmas._

“I can’t wait I want to make a bunch of—”

And that was when he finally hit the deep end. Something might have actually snapped in Jean’s brain for all he knew. All he was truly aware of was how _livid_ he is, and he could tell the brunette knew he fucked up because whatever he was going to say trailed off.

Jean grabbed Marco by his arm and drags him further and further down until he fell off from the top bunk with a loud _thud._ Without looking back, Jean once again climbed into his bed, not bothering to fix his messy blankets.

“O-O-O-OOwwww” he heard Marco complain, but he ignored him in favor of checking the time.

The screen was terribly bright, but he could still make out the numbers; 1:05 AM.

He’d been listening to Marco piss himself about Christmas for an _hour._ He’d been up when he could be out cold for an _hour._ Jean swore if Marco tried to open his mouth one more time—

 “Hey Jean? Can I have a pillow? It’s uncomfortable on the floor.” he whined obnoxiously.

_Oh, he wants a pillow? He wants a **pillow**? I’ll give him a **fucking** pillow I swear to god._

The college student yanked his sadly unused pillow off of his bed and smacked Marco with it several times as hard as he could, one hit for every time he’d annoyed him tonight. Once he’d gotten his fill with that, he picked up Marco’s mattress from the top bunk and threw it on top of Marco’s shirtless body in a final act of rage.

“ _OOOOW!_ ” Marco cried out, and Jean turned around to face the five-year-old college student.

He pulled at the roots of his hair, locks sticking up in all directions. In an act of desperation, he played out his final card.

“IF I TAKE YOU TO THE MALL TOMORROW TO LOOK AT CHRISTMAS SHIT, WILL YOU _PLEASE_ JUST _LET ME GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP?!_ ”

The brunette’s voice was muffled behind the six inches of bedding on top of him, but his answer was thankfully short and sweet.

“...Yes.”

Jean sighed in relief, coming out as more of a grateful sob. _Finally...!_

.

..

...

Back then he was using it as a last ditch effort to catch some z’s.

Right now he was about ready to bash his head into the nearest Christmas tree.

Don’t get him wrong, he was still absolutely pumped that Marco was back in Trost. It was their _home_ ; a place where they could feel happy, safe, and content without worrying about a thing.

Jean hadn’t been able to genuinely call some place home for far too long, and now that he had the privilege of getting one again the only person he wanted to share that space with was Marco.

But keeping him from his much-needed sleep was not something he was happy about.

The two of them walked into the nearest holiday-themed shop. Well it was more like Marco skipped inside while Jean dragged his feet behind him. The classic song ‘White Christmas’ played overhead, and Jean sighed, adding it to the “Annoying Yet Terribly Catchy” playlist he had in his head.

While Marco disappeared into one of the aisles, Jean let his vision become unfocused as he thought about the other things on his mind.

Jean hadn’t truly been without the freckled man since August, and he had absolutely _hated_ remembering what it was like to be all alone again. Too often were the nights filled with loneliness, boredom, and isolation. Connie and Sasha had been gone with their family as well, so it truly felt like he was on his own.

Holidays hadn't been easy for the blond for a long time. When those ridiculous commercials came on about how Christmas was ‘A time to be together with family’ and ‘A joyous occasion’, He found it hard not to bark harsh laughter at the radio or television. When you come from a broken home with a dead father, dead sister, an abusive alcoholic mother, and hardly any friends, all that the season brought back was painful memories were depression.

Part of him wished he could enjoy the holidays more, but everything about it put him in a terrible mood. He’d probably be doomed to be “Old Man Kirschtein”, the crotchety neighborhood Scrooge who smacked children with his cane if you so much as whispered the word ‘Christmas’ near him. The lights, the decorations, the weather, the extremists; Jean couldn’t stand any of it from anyone.

Well, except for one person, but it was more of a tolerance than anything.

If he put aside the whole “burying your friend with a mattress and beating him with a pillow” incident, he couldn’t really be mad at Marco for being so excited over everything. He had no reason to hate the holiday, so of course he was going to love it with every bit of his heart.

There was even a part of him even found Marco's giddiness adorable. His beautiful brown eyes would sparkle up brighter than the lights strewn around them, and he always had a breathtaking, genuine smile when he saw something he liked.

So he would try his best to withstand the season for his sake. Who was he to piss on his Christmas parade? Sitting through a couple carols would definitely be worth being able to spend more time with his best friend after being without him for a week.

And while it didn't seem like a long time to others, after spending so much time warming back up, being thrown back out into the freezing tundra felt harsher than it used to. Before, the harsh cold was all he ever knew, and he'd grown a thick, numbing skin to protect himself from it. But once you learn how to feel again, and begin to get used to the comforting warmth, you forget that it's not how things always were. You inevitably have go to back out into that frozen ice-land, with all of your protective armor melted away, and it feels much,  _much_ worse the second time around.

Marco was his warmth, both metaphorically and literally.

As sappy as it sounded, Jean had missed being able to physically touch Marco while he was gone for Mid-Winter Break. And though he would never admit it to the freckled man, he spent every night sleeping in his dormmates’ bed. He needed _something_ to hold him off, so often nights he would hug his pillow and try to pretend it was the real thing instead. It was a poor replacement really; cold, small, and not nearly as ticklish as the real deal. But he had to make it work while Marco was out of town.

So one could only imagine how clingy Jean was when Marco finally stepped out of his car. He didn’t even wait for the brunette to get all the way out, instead tackling him and clinging to him like a monkey. Jean let out a quiet yet heartfelt “Welcome home” over and over again. And while Marco was definitely surprised, he still hugged Jean back, telling him “I’m home” between laughs.

It just felt so nice to be able to see the real him instead of a pixelated version that was miles and miles away. He couldn’t help hanging onto him like he had.

If he was going to be completely honest, he wished that Marco had never gone back home in the first place. Part of it was just him being selfish and wanting to have the freckled man all to himself, with no one getting in their way.

The other part?

He had to deal with the feverish holiday spirit that Marco brought back with him.

“ _Jean._ Snow globes! They’ve got _snow globes!_ Even those really big and expensive ones that play music! I mean, I could never _afford_ one, but they’re there and they’re so friggin’ cute! Look at 'em!”

The blond peeked over at his best friend, who frantically pointed at a small snow globe with flakes of white twirling and dancing inside. It was really pretty and all, but you'd think Marco found buried treasure or something.Guess in some ways it _was_ treasure to him.

Smiling and shaking his head, Jean scoffed at his extreme excitement. “I can see that. Did you want to buy it?”

Marco shook his head firmly, his gaze wandering to the different toys and things lined up in the store. But suddenly, his eyes widened and he let out a small gasp.

Jean raised one eyebrow curiously. “Did you see something you liked?”

Shyly, the brunette shook his head, and the ashen blond man furrowed his dark brows in confusion. “Then what is it?”

Rubbing a hand against the back of his head, he finally graced him with a reply. “Well...actually, there’s this new baking shop that just opened up, and I haven’t had a chance to go inside and look yet.”

Jean blinked a few times. “That’s it? Marco, I’m totally fine with going and looking around there with you.”

“Really?” he grinned, and Jean could’ve sworn there were literal stars in his eyes. “Can we go now?”

“Sure, if that’s what you want.” he shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. Unfortunately he couldn’t keep the blush from creeping onto his cheeks from making Marco so happy. Hopefully his scarf would hide it well enough.

“Yes! Let’s go! I think it’s down there, near that one candle shop I like.” Marco recalled, but as he turned to navigate the way, he came to a stuttering halt.

Jean looked ahead of his best friend to assess the problem, and let out an irritated sigh at the amount of people packed into the area. Some people were literally standing still, having no courtesy for those who had somewhere to be. How the hell were they supposed to make their way through this dense-as-fuck crowd?

Just as he was about to suggest they go a different way around, he noticed his dormmates’ shoulders raise as if he were taking a deep breath. Then, without warning, he turned around and firmly grabbed Jean’s hand. The blond flinched at the sudden action, but before he could ask what Marco was doing, he was being pulled through the crowd, with his crush  _holding his hand._

Jean knew this was only to get through the crowds easier, but he couldn’t help the way his heart raced when he saw the plethora of freckles dusting the back of his hand. Marco's hands were big, rough, and warm, and the mere sight of their clasped hands made his face feel like an inferno.

Wistfully, he wished they could stay like this for a bit longer. Perhaps one day, they could hold hands like an actual couple, with fingers interlaced and light brushes with their thumbs against the backs of their hands. As if Marco could read his thoughts, he felt the bespeckled man squeeze the blonds’ hand comfortingly.

A smile may or may not have involuntarily found its way to his face.

“I’m willing to bet you $50 that they’ve got holiday themed cookie cutters in stock and I am _ready."_ Marco grinned, looking back at Jean over his shoulder. He could only manage a jerky nod in response, and Marco laughed at his goofy, wobbly smile.

When they entered the small shop, they were both relieved to find that there were considerably less people inside. There was less of a chance that some stranger would brush into Jean’s personal bubble, and the scarf-clad man felt his shoulders sag in relief.

But with no more reason for them to stay connected, Marco pulled his hand back to his side. The blond sighed at the loss of contact, putting his own in his jacket pocket. But what was he supposed to do? Grab Marco’s hand back and casually say ‘Actually I still want to hold your hand’? How would he even _make_ that sound casual?

It seemed Marco mistook his longing sigh for exhaustion, since the brunette turned and pointed to the exit. “If you’re too tired, we could always head back to the dorm instead?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I mean, I still feel kinda shitty for wailing on you with a mattress, so if this is what you wanna do, then let’s do it.” he reassured, and then shrugged while looking to the side. “I’ll do anything to make you happy, y’know?”

The brunette’s eyes lit up excitedly when he learned he could stay and he enthusiastically balled his fists in front of him. But as soon as Jean’s words registered in his head, Marco’s eyes widened further and he laughed nervously. “A-Alright, but I really don’t mind going back after this.”

“...You sure?” Jean inquired, confused as to where the stutter came from.

Marco quickly shook his head. “I don’t want you to burn out already.” he worried, but soon the tension lessened in his body and a mischievous smirk overtook his features. “We still have 30 more days of Christmas go to, after all!”

Jean couldn’t keep himself from cringing at the words, and all the emotion drained from his voice. “You mean 30 more days of December?”

“Nope, the entire month of December is Christmas, and nothing you say can convince me otherwise.”

“You _really are_ a Christmas freak.” he groaned, smacking his hand against his forehead. “Whatever, just—go fuck a stocking or something.”

Marco laughed at his misery and word choice and dove into the store, on the hunt for any holiday goods he could lay his evil hands on. Taking a good look around, Jean noticed that the store was stocked with aisles upon aisles of supplies. From plain mixing bowls to colorfully themed mugs, if it was something used in the kitchen, this seemed to be the place to find it. There was even an entire section dedicated to _teapots_ for god’s sake. Jean didn’t even _know_ there were so many different types of tea cups until he saw that display. He’ll just stick to coffee for now, thank you very much.

And of course, it being the first of December and all, there were a few aisles dedicated to the wretched holiday. Winter themed plates, silverware, and cups lined the shelves in that section of the store. He even found a mug in the shape of Santa Claus, and if that wasn’t creepy as hell he didn't know what was.

But even though Jean was grimacing at the abundance of holiday shit floating around, Marco seemed to be having the time of his life. It was like he was a kid at a candy store, jumping back and forth between everything that was in front of him because there was too much to choose from. He would pick up one thing to show Jean, and then immediately put it down for another, and another, and another.

“Man, I wish I had eight arms. Then I could look at stuff faster and not have to go back and forth all the time.” Marco wished, and suddenly giggled to himself. “Could you imagine me with eight arms?”

Jean snorted and shook his head at the imagery. “Why would you put that image in my head, Marco?”

His laughter only increased in volume “Okay, okay, bear with me for a second! Just _imagine_ all the homework I could get done, or—” Marco interrupted himself to let out a loud excited gasp. “—I could bake eight times as fast! Jean, there would be _nothing_ stopping me from making hundreds of batches of cookies.”

Oh _god_ , again with the cookies. Memories of last night flashed through his head, and he shuddered at the word brought back memories of that terrible night.

But by mentioning treats, the brunette _had_ reminded Jean of something he’d been meaning to ask for a while. “So, you actually _do_ bake?”

“I do! I cook too, but I _especially_ like to bake. And I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve been told I make some pretty great cupcakes.” Marco beamed. He was obviously proud of the praise he’d gotten in the past, and it was too damn cute.

Jean’s brain either hated him or loved him, because at that moment he was presented with the image of Marco, in a kitchen, surrounded by bowls of dough and icing, and with bits of flour on his face. Except Marco didn’t know it was there, and so he would just look back at Jean innocently with that one cute smile he always does, and the blond would have no choice but to wipe it off with his thumb. He’d chuckle at how messy the brunette was, and Marco would pout at the insult, only serving to make Jean laugh harder.

The scenario came and went in an instant, but it was enough to make his heart race. He almost wanted to hide from embarrassment at the level of domesticity it held.

The chances of it happening were extremely low in his opinion.

But still...it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

“D-Do you now? Maybe you could make some for me sometime?” he suggested, anxious for his dormmates’ answer.

A passerby would have thought Marco had won the lottery, judging from the excitement and genuine happiness that came off him in waves. His dark hair shook as he eagerly nodded, and the grin overtaking his face seemed to make his beautiful dark freckles stand out more than usual.

The sight honestly left him short of breath, and seeing Marco so damn cheerful was definitely worth speaking his thoughts aloud.

And not a few moments later, the brunette went back to gushing over holiday cookie cutters and gingerbread houses.

Figures.

Now that the moment had passed and Marco was back to being immersed in cooking supplies, Jean had more time to think, which was both a blessing and a curse.

He really couldn’t avoid it anymore, not with the thoughts he’d been having recently. In fact, his moment was a perfect example of the point he was proving.

Jean Kirschtein had it unbelievably bad for Marco Bodt, and he could no longer convince himself otherwise.

And it became extremely evident when Mid-Winter Break rolled around.

*************

As he watched Marco’s write car roll out of the parking lot, he felt fine. He was okay on the brisk walk back to their dorm. He was alright when he closed the door behind him and settled into his messy bed. He was even okay when several hours had gone by, and the blond could lose himself in sheets of paper and pencils.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary for a good while.

But when night rolled around, he was forced to take off a mask he didn’t know he was wearing. Earlier he had just been distracting himself, but now he had to face that he _wasn’t_ alright. When the sun went down, it truly registered with him that he only had himself and his mind to occupy the uncomfortable space in their room. Negative thoughts multiplied at a terrifying rate, and he had no way to stop them from piling on top of each other into a mound of depression.

So, instead of facing the impossibly high pile himself, Jean had tried to drown his surfacing thoughts in Budweiser.

In all honestly, he wished he had his real best friend with him to hold him and to quell the monster inside of his head that was eating him alive.

But Marco hadn’t seen him like this, hadn’t seen what he was like when he felt like he was falling too fast yet too slow, when the only thing that reached his ringing ears were never ending shouts of ‘You should have died with them’ and ‘Why are you still here’ and ‘Who needs you’ in _her fucking voice_.

There was always the chance that Marco would deem him too much to handle, too much deal with, _too much of a problem,_ and that thought scared him more than anything. So, with more worrying his mind than usual this time of year, he had turned to his old friend and arch nemesis; alcohol.

Being drunk out of his mind to the point where 9:00 in the afternoon sounded like a real time seemed to be the only option for him now.

Until one familiar, freckled hand grabbed him from his free-fall and refused to let go.

_Today_

**_MarCocaCola:_** Hey, you still up?

 

*************

 “...n? Jean, are you alright?”

Focusing his vision back into the present, he was met with a worried looking Marco. His brows were furrowed, and he cautiously waited for the blond to answer.

“What? Oh yeah, sorry, I’m just...” Jean paused for a moment, and then smiled softly. “really tired I guess.”

Marco looked as if he didn’t completely believe him, but thankfully the brunette kept in any questions he had and went right back to shopping.

Jean mentally sighed in relief. That was one thing he both hated and loved about Marco; he could tell if the slightest thing was off about him. But the freckled man knew when he should and shouldn’t pry for answers, which he appreciated highly.

There weren’t many people he could say knew him as well as Marco did. In fact, the only people he could think of were Con and Sash. Though his feelings for his dormmate were considerably more...intimate.

He’d known he’d had a thing for the brunette since Halloween. That part was no secret to him.

But as the months went by he’d found it increasingly hard to keep these feelings to himself. When he fell for Marco, it hit him so hard and fast that he had no idea what to do with himself.

But now that Jean had recovered from the initial blow, each and every day he began to crave more and more of him.

On multiple occasions, he ended up fantasizing about doing things with the freckled man, like cuddling, or _actually_ holding his hand, or going out on a date. The idea of letting everyone know that Marco was his and his alone was extremely appealing to him.

Of course, he would also think of the sex they could have, but ever since he was little he’d always craved the innocent brushes of skin and personal closeness that came with the small things.

Or there were other times that he would let something slip when he wasn’t careful, especially when he was drunk. Thanksgiving night was an excellent example of Jean lacking a filter when speaking.

And now that he thought about it, he’d made the very same mistake when they first arrived at the store by nonchalantly revealing that he’d do anything to make Marco happy. No wonder the brunette was stuttering; that’s a pretty intense thing to say out of nowhere.

Mentally slapping himself, Jean grabbed a Christmas mug from the shelf and looked at the two figures decorating the front. It was of two snowmen, dressed in scarves and hats and buttons. They were holding stick hands, and above them a floating heart was shared between them. The blond smiled warmly at the design, and let out a breathy laugh when he imagined it as he and Marco. He couldn’t stop the thought from forming even if he wanted to, and his cheeks were dusted a light pink.

Jean subtly looked over his shoulder to see if the brunette had noticed his little moment, but thankfully he was still immersed in the holiday goods. He let out a sigh of relief, though there was an attached loneliness to the action. He wished he would have noticed so he could tell the bespeckled man why he was grinning at a cup when Christmas was at the bottom of the list of things he loved.

Though he knew he would never have the courage to actually say it.

And Jean would _never_ have the bravery to ask Marco to be his boyfriend.

But he still wanted it more than anything he could think of. He couldn’t hide how he was feeling from his dormmate; he simply knew him too well. Marco made him feel safe, he made him laugh, he was attractive as _hell,_ and he made Jean feel blissfully happy when he needed it and even when he didn't. And when the brunette couldn’t find the right words to calm him down, just his presence was enough to keep his mind off of things for a while.

Marco was a ray of sunshine, beam of  _warmth_ that he needed after so long in the cold.

*************

A small, soft smile crept onto Jean’s face, and just the sight of the message on his screen began to slow down his panicking mind. Jean tried to reply to Marco right away, but his hands weren’t exactly working right, what with the exhaustion of a fading panic attack making them vibrate wildly. The alcohol in his system wasn’t helping either.

 ** _JeanTheDestroyer:_** _yeha_  
                                  *yeah  
                                  welcome back btw

His heart was still pounding in his chest, but his breathing had evened out considerably. He was familiar enough with this anxiety to know that it would pass soon enough, but messaging Marco was definitely speeding up the process. Jean leaned his cheek on his shaking hands, watching the small dots appear and disappear on the screen.

He had to wonder what Marco was still doing up though. Shouldn’t he be exhausted from being awake for...what, 18 hours?

Finally, the familiar Skype ping resounded.

            **_MarCocaCola:_** Haha, thanks. : )

                                    You up for a call?

A call...?

Jean...wasn’t sure what to say. On one hand the last thing he wanted to do was keep Marco up for too long after he’d already been awake for so long.

And the blond was still mortified over what happened in the last call earlier that day. He _still_ couldn’t believe his dick decided that _then_ would be the perfect time to pop up and say hello.

But on the other hand...he really, _really_ needed to hear Marco’s voice again. Jean needed something to hold onto and make him feel okay until the night passed. He didn’t want to think of _her_ , or of his deceased family if he could help it.

Marco still didn’t know what kind of shit he’d gone through in the past, and the thought of completely exposing himself terrified him to no end. Vulnerability was something he wasn’t particularly fond of.

But he didn’t have to provide a solution to his life’s problems; that was asking for the impossible. He knew nothing could completely cure him of his trauma.

If Marco could just be himself and _listen_ to him while he talked, he knew that the heaviness in his heart would lessen.

Maybe, on difficult days like these, the freckled man could help him get back up on his feet.

With his drunken mind resolved, he choppily typed several messages to his best friend.

 _~~i m a mess right now~~_  
             ~~i don’t know what to do...~~  
            ~~i feel like shit~~  
             ~~i want you with me right now~~  
             ~~im still not over something that happened 10 fucking years ago~~  
             ~~i can’t feel anything but it hurts so bad~~  
             ~~its too hot and i cant breathe~~  
             ~~i cant breathe.~~  
            ~~i cant fucking escape her even now and i hate myself for it  
~~             ~~i just want to hold you again...~~

...But he couldn’t bring himself to press send on any of them. Every single message stared back at him, mocked him, discouraged him, and every single time he rapidly pressed backspace until only a blinking cursor remained.

As he sat on Marco’s bed, the screen the only thing illuminating the room, Jean was struck with the upsetting reality that he depended on his dormmate a lot.

Maybe even _too_ _much_.

It was like he couldn’t do this, _any of this,_ on his own anymore.

But why not?

He’d gotten through years of holidays by himself, and though they were rough and shitty, he always miraculously made it to the next day. Sure, most of the time he was filled with an unimaginable supply of self-loathing, but he just had to power through and keep it inside until the sun rose, just like always.

It’s better this way.

 _...Fuck,_ he still wanted to talk about it _so badly._ And as he tried to quell his minds’ conflicting sides, he felt his breath quicken, unable to stop it.To make matters worse, he began hearing her voice inside of his head again, where he couldn’t escape it.

_Give up already._

_Leave him alone._

Jean felt uncomfortably lightheaded, and yet his breathing never slowed.

_Don’t you annoy him enough just by being his dormmate?_

_Do the world a favor and erase yourself from it._

Was his heart always lodged in his throat?

_Why are you such a fuck up, Jean?_

Jean didn’t bother arguing with her; he really was a fuck up. A mistake. Someone who wasn’t supposed be breathing.

Someone who should have burned to death with the rest of his family.

He didn’t want to burden Marco with his problems, not when he deserved so much better than what a useless, weak-hearted man could give.

_**Plip.** _

Looking down at the source of the sound, Jean found several dots of water on his keyboard, running between the crevices. The blond reached a shaky hand to his face, and was surprised to find tears streaking his cheeks.

When had he started crying?

_Sit down._

_Stay quiet._

_Keep to yourself._

Shakily, Jean closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

...Marco must be tired. Yeah, that’s got to be it. His dormmate didn’t need any of _this_ , didn’t need his shit right now. Why would he want to help him? Marco didn’t want to talk to the depressed, negative, self-hating Jean. He wanted the sarcastic and funny Jean, one that wouldn’t make him uncomfortable with his lingering thoughts of death that he knew he shouldn't have, but couldn't control.

Besides, it was late, and if he really had to he could talk about it some other time. He wasn’t avoiding the inevitable, he was just...biding his time.

So he would try his damnedest to pretend to be okay.

If it meant he could talk to Marco like he usually did, he would ignore the yawning hole in his center that threatened to swallow him whole. He would furiously wipe away any new tears threatening to form.

Jean would force himself to put back up his walls, hide behind a mask, and put on a smile for him.

            **_JeanTheDestroyer:_** ok

*************

While Jean had been zoning out, he probably looked as if he was angrily staring at the mug in his hands. He was squeezing it abnormally tight, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth from biting his lip too hard as well.

“Oh no, there’s a crack in it!” Marco exclaimed, pointing to the mug.

“ _Shit!”_ Jean jumped, suddenly losing his strong grip.

Jean hadn’t expected Marco to speak up, or be pressed as close to the blond as he was. He could feel his abundance of warmth through his coat, and Jean practically melted at the feeling. Subconsciously, he felt himself lean back into his chest. This closeness was what he wanted the most. _Marco_ was what he wanted the most, but he couldn’t have this if their relationship stayed the way it was.

The college man’s heart screamed at him to tell his dormmate how he felt.

But if he _did_ tell him, it could go a couple of ways.

One, Marco could take it extremely well, possibly even _reciprocate_ his feelings, and the two of them could live happily ever after.

Two, He could take it well, but not feel the same way, and their friendship may or may not stay as it was. But there’s a possibility that things could become awkward between them for a while.

It only occurred to him that the mug was no longer in his hands when Marco gasped loudly in his ear. Blankly, he stared down at the holiday cup that was shattered into several pieces. And ironically enough, the snowmen that reminded Jean so much of him and Marco were exactly split apart, separated from each other, each with one uneven half of a broken heart.

The unfortunate accident brought him to the third possible scenario; Marco could be made extremely uncomfortable by his affections, become distant, and possibly even stop being his friend or talking to him. His sexuality might even make him want switch dormmates, and the thought brought cold fear to the pit of his stomach.

“Oh no oh no oh _no, Jean!_ Jean it’s broken! We broke it! Should we _hide_ it? Do we—do we pay for it? I’ve never broken something in a store before, oh no...” he worried, frantically looking between the blond and the broken cup on the tiled floor.

He could lose one of the best friends he’d ever had just because he was in love with him.

A tired store clerk with a sketchy beard hobbled over to where they were, and sighed. “Hey kid, you break it, you buy it.”

There was so much at risk, and he didn’t know if saying what he’d been feeling for months was worth the gamble.

But still...there was the chance that he might...

“God, what am I gonna do...” Jean groaned, dragging a hand down his face and staring at the broken chunks of porcelain.

Marco tilted his head in confusion, eyes widening innocently. “Um...pay for it?”

*************

The blond had never been so glad to be back in their dorm in his life. His feet were unbelievably sore, his legs struggled to keep him upright, and he felt like he could sleep for a thousand years. He was probably going to be singing “Jingle Bell Rock” to his fucking grave, since that seemed to be the most popular song that played today.

As soon as he walked through the door, he flopped down onto his bed and let out a long, exhausted sigh. Jean didn’t even bother kicking off his shoes. All he did was lie there and hope that he could fall into the sweet abyss of sleep soon.

“You alive?” Marco teased with a smirk. He tossed his bags of goods onto his chair, and began to arrange them neatly on his desk.

“Just barely.” Jean groaned, sinking further into his pillow. “Christmas is shitty enough as it is, and I already feel dead inside from having it shoved down my throat like some festive holiday dick.”

The brunette hummed in response, and Jean heard the sound of Marco taking off his clothes, presumably changing into pajamas. Following his lead, Jean slowly and tiredly shed his clothing as well.

Though a certain question brought his motions to a halt.

“So do you really not like Christmas...?”

Jean paused in his movements, and finally looked up at the freckled man standing in the middle of the room. His old shirt was nowhere to be found, but his arms were through a soft, loose, grey t-shirt. He applauded himself for not getting distracted by his constellation of freckles on his muscular body.

“No, I really don’t.” he concluded, finally slipping his jacket off the rest of the way.

Marco finished pulling it over his head in one fluid motion, and began searching through his closet again. Probably for a pair of sweatpants or something. “How come?”

A scoff made Marco looked over to the blond. “What, you mean besides the annoying songs and shoppers and commercials?” he joked, but there was a slight look of pain in his eyes.

“Okay, I can understand how those can get annoying to some people.” he agreed. “But is that really the only reasons you hate it?”

Jean winced where he sat, and it was clear Marco had noticed.

This man knew him too well, didn’t he?

Now was the perfect excuse let Marco know about what he’d been through, though.

“I...ah, this is kind of, not an easy thing to talk about. You sure you want to hear?”

Jean's heart pounded hard and fast as he spoke. He definitely trusted Marco enough to talk about it, but the question that really had him on edge was how he would handle the information.

Pulling up his wheelie chair, Marco removed his plastic bag and spun it around so the back of the seat was facing him. Taking a seat, he leaned his arms on it and stared intently at Jean. He must have sensed the switch in mood, because every ounce of attention was devoted to the ashen blond man.

“If you’re okay with talking about it, then I’m more than okay with listening.” Marco declared. 

Those words brought a warmth that spread out from his chest all the way to his toes.

And it was all the reassurance he needed.

“So you already know that my dad passed away, right?” he asked, making sure he still remembered.

Marco nodded once.

“Well I haven’t told you _how_ he passed, or what happened for years afterwards...”

While Jean spoke, the brunette's eyes remained carefully trained on him. And everything Marco was feeling was written on his face like an open book. Jean could see his eyes widen in shock at the way his family had died, and he could see the hurt that clouded his vision when the blond talked about particularly difficult nights where death seemed like the only option. Happiness was present in the form of a relieved sigh when Jean talked about Connie and Sasha, and when he talked about all the times his mom has abused him, he could see Marco’s jaw clench just a little tighter. His eyes would harden, and his grip on the back of the chair would tighten considerably, as if he was the one feeling the pain instead of Jean.

When he’d finally finished, Jean took a deep breath and looked at Marco again to gauge his reaction to the entire thing. He was extremely surprised to find determination prominent in the storm of emotions on his face, and to be honest the blond wasn’t sure what to do.

“Jean.”

Fuck, he sounds so serious. His heart beat against his rib-cage, and he forced himself to swallow thickly.

“...Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

Oh no. Oh fuck no. Jean didn’t like where this was going at all; he’d already heard enough apologies when he was growing up, and the last thing he wanted was Marco pitying him. “Don’t—”

“No no, let me finish.” he interrupted, standing up from his seat. Jean stiffened slightly, but he let the brunette continue.

“I’m sorry that you had to go through all that pain by yourself. There were probably times where you needed someone, but you just had to bite your tongue and deal with it. And I had no idea. I figured you weren’t close with your family, but I didn’t expect...I didn’t expect you to have gone through such _awful_ things. I didn’t even realize how everything, or how my actions could have been affecting you.” he apologized, and when Jean tried to tell him there was no way he couldn’t have known, the freckled man spoke again, but this time louder and more firm.

“But now that I know what you’ve been through, I would like to ask you something, if that’s okay.”

The brunette was now standing right in front of Jean, looking down with resolve in his eyes. Jean quirked an eyebrow, his nervousness portrayed in the way clung onto the edge of his t-shirt like it was his lifeline. “Go on...?”

Marco took one final step, and wrapped his arms tightly around the slightly smaller man. With one hand pressed to his back and the other to his head, the brunette held him like he could break at any moment. He then rested his cheek on top his head, making sure all of Jean was protected and safe.

Jean had no idea what to do except remain completely still. But while physically he wasn’t moving, he could feel his heart hammering in his chest and his mind running at a million miles a minute.

“Jean...will you let me be there for you?” Marco asked, tightening his grip. “I care about you, I really, _really_ do, and...I want you to be happy, too. So from now on, will you please talk to me when feel like this? And when things seem too impossible for you to take on by yourself, will you let me shoulder some of the burden?”

The blond felt his breath hitch, but the freckled man wasn’t done.

“Will...will you let me help you when you need it? You’re my best friend, so I want to like...be there for you, you know? I can understand if sometimes you don’t want me around, but when you do, please don’t be afraid to lean on me...okay?”

Jean's eyes widened considerably.

"I don't...I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here anymore."

By the time Marco finished speaking, Jean had begun to shake, absolutely overwhelmed with a million feelings. Happiness, Shock, Fear, Relief, Sadness, all of it flowed through his mind in a clustered clash of emotions.

All this time Jean was so fucking afraid of Marco leaving him because he thought of himself as too much of a burden, but he...

He wanted to stay.

He still _wanted_ to be with him, even after he’d revealed the most vulnerable parts of him. If anything, he seemed to want to stay even more.

Marco had accepted him, regardless of how broken he was.

Jean’s mind had no idea how to deal with the immense relief he felt.

And so he started to cry.

Months of built up stress from hiding this, of worrying, of dreading the idea that he might think of him as weak, as broken, or as just a problem had finally caught up to him. Jean abruptly wrapped his arms back around the freckled man, and his breath hitched again as he began to sob an ugly, repulsive sob. Jean had never been a pretty crier, and he wasn't about to start now. Marco held him tighter still, as if he was saying "I got you."

Loud, wet sniffling could be heard throughout the room, and Marco began to rub soothing circles into his back. Compared to Jean’s disgusting sniveling sobs, Marco was smiling into the top of his head. He was sure that his face looked absolutely gross right now, but he couldn’t bring himself to care because _he was still here._

Marco whispered sweet reassurances to him, things like “I’m right here” and “It’ll be okay” and “You’re not alone” that broke his walls further and further with each painfully kid word. And this time he wasn’t sure they would be able to be repaired. Marco had crashed his way into his most guarded parts of his body, and there was no way he was going to leave his life so easily.

Jean blubbered “Thank you”’s into his shirt over and over, probably staining it with his tears and snot, but he couldn't bring himself to give a shit.

He was just so, _so_ happy.

It took a long time, but eventually his cries were brought down to the occasional whimper, and his breathing was finally steady enough to not stutter every time he exhaled. Jean peeled his face from Marco’s damp shirt, and took one final cleansing breath before looking up at his dormmate.

“...Marco?”

The freckled man hummed in question.

“Are you going to stay here for Christmas?”

He hummed again for a little while, tilting his head. “Do you want me to?”

The answer came to him immediately. “Yes.”

A quiet, caring smile was sent Jean’s way before his arms enveloped him in another hug.

“Then of course I will.”

Tightening his grip on his back, Jean let out another sigh of relief as he confirmed that Marco really was still there.

If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up.

But suddenly, his best friend said the quite literally sweetest thing he'd said to him all day.

“I’m gonna make you like, five hundred cupcakes to make you feel better, I promise.”

It took a second for Jean to register what he had just said, but when it did he found himself overwhelmed with contagious giggles that startled the freckled student.

“W-What?!” the brunette stammered, pulling away from the blond. Confusion was written all over his features, and Jean found it fucking _hilarious._

 _"C-Cupcakes?!_ What the hell, Marco!" he cackled, and his stomach already hurt from the laughter.

Even after a heavy topic like that, he was _still_ thinking about _Christmas?_   _What a dork!_

Maybe it was the relief that made him so giddy, or maybe it was something else entire. Either way, he couldn't bring himself to quell the laughter that erupted from him, and soon the brunette was laughing along with him.

"What's so damn  _funny?"_ Marco chuckled, and a smile started to make its way onto his face too.

Jean tried to get out the words to describe how he was feeling, but every time he tried, a new bout of cackling started up, and he ended up hiding his face in Marco’s chest as he was overcome with laughter. The seriousness in his tone contrasted so heavily with his promise of  _baking cupcakes_  that he couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up inside of him.

"Hey! Stop laughing already! Cupcakes are _absolutely_ necessary, Okay?"

"Yeah?" he laughed, wiping a stray tear from his eye. "And why is that?"

Marco puffed out his cheeks, and gave him a light scowl. "Because I’m going to make sure that this is the best Christmas you’ve ever had.”

And Jean truly believed him. He believed Marco really _was_ going to try and make this the best Christmas he’d ever had.

And for once, he wasn't dreading it.

As his laughter finally faded away, he felt the weariness of the day finally catch up with him, and his body felt as if it were made of lead. Soon, staying awake was becoming too much of a chore, and so he gave into the temptation of sleep.

He never did manage to explain how much this meant to the blond, but he figured he didn’t have to. Marco knew him well enough to figure it out eventually.

And as he felt himself lose consciousness, he could still feel himself smiling.

*************

When they eventually connected to the call, they’d started off with simple greetings. Jean turned on his webcam, hoping that Marco would follow his lead, and when he saw that familiar freckled face he couldn’t hold back a relieved smile.

But it was immediately wiped off his face when his dormmate spoke again.

“Are you alright?”

_Shit, he could tell?_

He was extremely conflicted about whether to feel glad that he noticed or upset that the blond couldn’t hide it better. Of course he wasn’t alright, but he wasn’t about to say that.

He opted for shrugging and emptying the last bit of his beer and cracking open a new one. The more he drank the less he’d have to think about the truth. “I guess.”

“How many of those have you had?”

Jean looked at the numerous cans littered off-screen, and decided to lie about their number in order to worry Marco less.

“...Three? No, four?”

It must have worked if the relieved look on Marco’s face was anything to go by. But he felt his heart tug painfully from lying to him.

Fortunately, he had managed to stray the topic away from his emotional state by teasing the brunette with his obvious exhaustion. Marco couldn’t keep his eyes open or his head up for more than 5 seconds at a time, and honestly it reminded him of a stubborn child who refused to go to bed. Marco talked less and less as the night went on as he strayed into dream land every now and then.

But with the quietness came a large amount of time to think about the man before him.

Marco looked really fuckin’ cute when he was sleepy. He was trying so hard to stay up but his exhaustion kept getting the better of him by shaking his head to try and free the cobwebs of sleep from his mind. Every time he did it, it made his dark, soft looking hair swish back and forth. His eyes were droopy and constantly threatening to close, and his long, dark lashes looked beautiful when they brushed over his cheeks. At this point, his stubbornness was the only thing keeping him awake.

Jean chuckled softly to himself, and a loving grin overtook his features. Marco really needed to go to sleep already. He should lie down and curl up in a big, soft pile of blankets and maybe even hold onto Jean until morning. That way the blond could play with Marco’s hair and place gentle kisses on his cheeks, or his forehead, or anywhere he could reach until the freckled man drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

He found himself drifting over Marco’s features, and when he suddenly realized that he could not do these things with him he was hit with a pang of loneliness.

That’s right. Marco was not his boyfriend. They weren’t in a relationship, and the brunette was not obligated to snuggle with him when he needed attention.

But _fuck_ did he want him to.

Jean wasn’t sure if it was just alcohol bringing out his innermost desire for physical contact and affection, or if it was simply his raw feelings he had for his best friend.

He knew they were there, but this was the first time he’d wanted to act upon them, the first time he truly ached to be in a relationship with his dormmate. No longer was this a small crush that he’d discovered on a Halloween night. Jean actually felt the strong urge to act on them, and to do more things than what came with a friendship.

He wanted to go on dates with him, hold him, kiss him everywhere, live with him outside of school, and even make love to him.

These were all things that the blond could not deny he wanted from the freckled man. And when he combined them all and thought about it rationally...

His face had grown extremely warm as he faced the indisputable truth.

Jean Kirschtein was undeniably and irrevocably in love Marco _,_ and he wanted to do something about it.

Alcohol made him cuddly; always had, always will. And attention was what his body and mind craved the most. Maybe it was the gentleness of simple contact, or maybe it was the safety that came with being held in someone else’s arms.

Either way, with the chains loosened on his mouth and mental restraint, the blond felt he had to voice his new-found feelings.

But he couldn’t say he loved him; not out of the blue like that. That would scare him off, and then his already slim shot at being in a relationship with Marco would dwindle even further.

So, he tried to convey the same meaning to a different set of words.

 “...Miss you.”

*************

Jean slowly awoke from his accidental nap, and for a panicked moment he feared that everything that had happened was just a dream. But when he opened his sleep-crusted eyes he found himself in Marco’s arms, and in Jean’s bed. One of the brunette’s hands was laced through his hair, and his own arms were wrapped around Marco's waist. Jean could tell by his light snoring that Marco was fast asleep, and that was when he noticed their faces were mere inches apart.

Any other time the blond would try to scramble away in embarrassment, but he couldn’t bring himself to this time.

Or, rather, he didn’t want to.

Jean had felt a new kind of closeness with Marco, and though the serene, peaceful look on his face as he slept was almost mesmerizing he tore his gaze away.

Carefully, Jean pressed his head into Marco’s chest, wanting nothing more than to press a butterfly-light kiss to his collarbone.

This right here was what he craved, this physical contact and closeness that went beyond words.

This was what he _wanted_ from Marco, and he was sure it would happen more if they were actually going out with each other.

Jean's mindset had undergone a huge change compared to the first time he came to terms with his feelings. Before, he found himself trying to rationalize his feelings, and he kept assuring himself that Marco didn’t like him like he did.

Now, Jean wasn’t sure if he was projecting his own feelings onto Marco. But there was a part of him that desperately hoped Marco truly did feel the same way about him.

And even if it _was_ all in Jean’s head, he wasn’t sure he could keep it in any longer. These feelings have been locking inside for far too long, and Jean knew he had to do something about it.

Soon.

Drawing in an uneven breath, he pulled himself closer to the freckled man and anxiously clenched his fists into the back of Marco’s shirt.

Earlier he was so sure that he would never build the courage to go through with it, but now his mind was made up.

He was going to tell Marco how he felt, and he swallowed down the sickening moths that fluttered frantically at the mere thought.

Even if he was going to be rejected, he needed his dormmate to know how he felt, before it ate him alive.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of figured this chapter was fitting to post today, since i've seen like 6000 post on my dash about people already getting excited on christmas.
> 
> Cool little side note; Marco in this chapter is based off of my friend Mason, and he is a fucking animal. he's been excited about christmas since august and i based holiday fanatic Marco after him.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I kind of feel like this chapter had a really slow pace though...but if there's anything about it you'd like to know more about or something that you're wondering will happen in the final chapter, let me know in the comments! I read and reply to every single comment I receive, because they truly mean a lot to me. 
> 
> Also, did you catch the reference to [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yyN4ZDXG3OM) video when Marco annoyed Jean at Midnight?
> 
> Don't forget that I also have a [tumblr](http://www.kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) so come shoot me an ask! Or give me a writing prompt! please talk to me i am so lonely
> 
> So, looks like I'll be seeing you guys by December 24th! The end is nigh!


	14. ...Is You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is just around the corner, and along with it the two P words.  
> Parties, and presents.  
> But Jean has been acting pretty suspicious lately.  
> Marco can't figure out what's going on, but it's making his heart pound...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Hey! So i edited the chapter a bunch after I posted it online, because i was really not happy with how it flowed and some of the word choice i used. But i'm finally done editing it! So this is the the OFFICIAL chapter 14;;;
> 
> And here it is! The ((sort of)) final chapter of dormmates! I finished it so much earlier than I expected, so surprise on that! When I'm at my dad's house I always get a lot of writing done, and i literally wrote over 9,000 words in two days, no exaggeration.  
> I'm glad i could get this out earlier than planned! That just means the FINAL final chapter's due date will be December 25th instead of this one.  
>   
> So, please drown in all the fluff this chapter has to offer~

If being in college had taught Marco anything, it wasn’t that he should sit towards the front of the hall if he wanted to actually hear the professor. Nor was it that he shouldn’t put off his essays ‘till the very last second and show up sleep deprived and hyped up on coffee the next day. (It still happened far more often than he’d like, though).

No, what going to Trost University had taught him was the terrible and unforgiving reality of how limited on cash the average jobless college student was. And considering how damn  _expensive_ textbooks are, more often than not he would stare at the negative balance in his checking account. He still couldn't believe he actually owed the world cash for trying to further his education like all of society told him he had no choice but to do.

But Marco hadn't just started to think of his limited funds just for fun. Originally, he had planned to go to the library in an attempt to work on his essay that was due in a few days in Hanji's class. Although these days, Marco just can't seem to think of anything except Christmas for hours and hours. When he'd ended up typing the lyrics to "All I Want for Christmas is You" instead of the history of hygiene in the medical field, he gave up and closed the Word Document. 

The freckled man was reaching for his USB drive so he could pack up, when he remembered something he couldn't believe he'd forgotten.

Christmas was just around the corner. It was a time of cheer, good food, and great friends...but along with it came the need for Christmas _presents._

Which would cost him money. And _lots_ of it.

That Marco  _didn't have._

For once Marco was upset at the amount of friends he’d accumulated over the months. Because now, the brunette had too many to buy gifts for, and not nearly enough money to go around. And he couldn’t just pick and _choose_ who got gifts; his heart would never allow it. He would just have to get something for Reiner, Annie, Eren, Armin, Bertholdt, Ymir, and Krista, Connie, Sasha...

And Jean.

There was no way in hell he was going to get away with not getting the blond a gift. Though because of his feelings for him, his present might be the hardest to shop for of all. But his friends might get angry if he got something only for Jean, and not for them...

_Agh, what do I do?!_

And such was his current dilemma. Marco turned into a limp noodle in his seat, crossing his arms and laying his defeated head on the table in front of him.

Until an unexpected husky voice broke through his overhanging cloud of doom. “Yo, twinkle-toes!”

Reluctantly dragging his head up, he turned around in his seat to find the source of the voice. It was Ymir and Krista, walking hand in hand towards his table. The former lazily waved to him, and he blankly stared as they continued to get closer.

Once they arrived, he heaved a heavy sigh and greeted them both. “Hey, Ymir. Krista.”

“What's the matter, Marco?” the petite blond asked, her thin eyebrows furrowed in concern.

He debated on whether he should talk about it for a bit, but eventually he sighed again and decided to spill the beans. “So you know how Christmas is coming up soon?”

Ymir rolled her dark eyes at him. “You’ve made that pretty damn clear in the past few months.”

Krista lightly smacked Ymir on the arm while maintaining innocent eye contact with the depressed brunette. “What about it?”

Marco began to pack up the rest of his things as he talked; there was no way he was getting any studying done when a much more pressing matter was at hand. “It’s about what I should get them. How am I supposed to afford a present for _every single person_...?” he croaked.

The freckled girl smirked dangerously at him before leaning in to whisper her idea. “Get ‘em whatever you want. Technically, if you can run fast enough, it’ll be free.”

A horrified look crossed his face, and he had a hard time telling whether she was joking or not. Krista must have heard what she said, because she whacked Ymir’s muscular arm harder this time. She winced and glared at her mean girlfriend, and Marco laughed awkwardly as he watched exchange.

Marco zipped up the last of his books and slung his deathly heavy backpack onto one shoulder. Standing from his plastic seat, the freckled man looked to them, defeated. "Look, you guys, thanks for trying to help. But unless you can think of some great money-saving idea that doesn't involve me going to jail, I'll stick to crying into my wallet." he resigned.

“How about we do a Secret Santa?” someone suggested, and the glum college student stopped in his tracks.

Marco, Ymir, and Krista turned to the source of the voice. The person put down the thick book they were reading, and they were all surprised to see Armin sitting there with a smile on his face. How had he not noticed his friend earlier, and why didn't he say anything?

“Armin, why are you here?” Marco prodded, putting his heavy backpack back on the ground.

The blond looked to the ceiling, as if he were genuinely thinking about an answer. “Hm...I’m not sure, Marco. Why do people _normally_ go to a Library in college?” he teased.

Marco gave him the biggest eye roll he could manage. God, he was so _sassy._ He then plopped down into the chair opposite of the blond. “Quiet, you.”

The tall freckled girl barked out a laugh at his weak retort, and tilted her head to the side. “What are you, Mr. Peabody?”

Folding his arms, he met her patronizing stare. “Maybe I _am_ Mr. Peabody, is that a problem?” Marco countered.

Ymir put her hands up in mock surrender, and the brunette grinned smugly at his victory. She didn't take to kindly to his expression, though.

“Oi, don’t get _too_ confident Bodt—”

“Did you say Secret Santa?” Krista interrupted, and the firm tone in her voice effectively silenced them both. And it was a good thing too; if it weren’t for her, Marco and Ymir would have continued to digress further and further from the situation at hand.

Armin quickly adjusted his glasses and smiled at the smaller blond. “Yeah, I did! If we got everyone together and had people draw names, then everyone would only have one present to buy instead of one hundred.” he reasoned.

Marco lit up like a child on Christmas morning, and clenched his hands into excited fists. “Yes! That’s perfect! But instead of just names, we could draw candy canes or something! And write their names on them! And then we could get hot chocolate afterwards! And—”

Ymir silenced him with a clap to the shoulder. “Slow down there, cowboy. If you cream your pants because you can’t hold in your eagerness, I’m not cleaning it up.”

Grimacing at the graphic imagery, he forced himself to calm down a little. Not that it would _actually_ happen, but the idea of having her anywhere near his bits made him feel very...unsafe.

The short-haired blond and Ymir cackled at his disgusted expression, but it was Armin who reined in his giggles first. He wiped away an invisible tear before continuing. “But candy canes _do_ sound like a nice idea, though. We can put the names of people on the wrapper, and afterwards people can eat them or do whatever they want with them.”

Marco gestured towards his friend wildly, with an ‘I told you so’ look directed towards Ymir. “ _See!_ ”

“Alright, so the idea isn’t _too_ ridiculous,” she admitted, and Marco grinned once again. That was his second victory of the day, and from Ymir nonetheless! “But whatever you dweebs decide do to won’t be anything compared to what _I’ve_ got. This one’s all the Christmas I need.” She smiled warmly, wrapping an arm around Krista’s waist.

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” Armin cooed, and a blush crept onto the poor girl’s cheeks. Ymir laughed boisterously and leaned down to press a kiss to the top of her forehead, and Krista had to hide her face in her small hands. Sometimes it was hard to believe a couple as cute as them existed.

Both Marco and Armin watched them for a little longer, but soon enough the blond genius was avidly discussing this 'Secret Santa' thing he wanted to do. He even had a notebook with dates and times in there, and little side notes with names and plans. That was pretty weird for Armin, but he was the last person who should be judging someone for being excited for Christmas.

The entire time he listened to Armin talk, Marco couldn’t help but think back and wonder if _he_ would be able to spend Christmas with a special someone, like Ymir and Krista.

\---------------------------------------

Stepping outside of their dorm building, Marco was reminded once again that yes, it was winter, and _yes,_ he probably should have worn something warmer than the light jacket he threw on. At least Jean seemed to be in the same boat as he was. Guess not even his scarves alone can protect him from the bitter sting of the weather.

Frost covered the grass, crunching beneath Marco’s every step, and he couldn’t deny that the sound was very satisfying. The trees were all stripped to the bone, and the roofs on houses glittered with frozen ice. It all looked so beautiful, and maybe if he was dressed more appropriately for the cold he could enjoy it a little more. But at the moment, the two of them were hurrying to get to the park as soon as possible, their cheeks and noses bright red.

They were the last ones to arrive, and as they joined the circle of students, Connie took in a deep, probably freezing cold breath.

“Alright! Are we all here?” Connie shouted, looking around at the herds of people. They were all either shivering their butts off and cursing or acting as if their ears weren’t red to the tips.

Jean, of course, was one of the former. “Why the actual _fuck_ are we _outside,_ Con?”

The short haired man looked at his friend and tilted his head in confusion. He couldn’t care less about the cold air that turned his cheeks bright red. “Whaddaya mean?”

“What do—What do I _mean?_ It’s 20 degrees out here!” Jean exclaimed, gesturing to the frozen ground and frost-bitten trees around them. Marco could even see his breath cloud around him before flying higher and disappearing into the grey sky.

“Oh my god, it’s not _that bad._ ” Connie dismissed, looking at everyone else expectantly. “Right?”

“I’m pretty sure my balls have receded into my body at this point.” Reiner complained, and Ymir pointed and laughed at his suffering. With a wool cap on her head and a thick pea coat on her body, she was effectively protected from the cold. Reiner glared.

“Let’s eat the candy canes already!” Sasha called out, grabbing the large pile of minty sweets and grinning excitedly.

Connie yanked them from her grip, and glared at the food-obsessed brunette. “These aren’t _just_ for eating, you damned glutton. They’re for picking Secret Santa’s! And _no,_ you can’t hand them out. I don’t trust them to stay out of your mouth long enough for everyone to grab one.” He scolded before she should add anything else. Sasha slumped where she stood, looking extremely upset about her temporary ban from candy canes.

“Let’s _go_ already!” Eren complained, his expression a mix of impatience and excitement. His hands were clenched into fists, and Marco couldn’t tell if he was jogging in place because he wanted to pick a candy cane already or if he was trying to stay warm.

Mikasa placed a steady, gloved hand on her step-brother’s shoulder. “Be patient, Eren.”

“No, he’s right. We should probably start soon...” Bertholdt chimed in. Annie nodded beside him in agreement, shoving her hands into her pockets and shivering where she stood.

“Alright alright, fine! We can start handing out the candy names.” Connie resigned.

Relieved sighs came from all around, because the sooner this was over the sooner they could be warm again. Marco could even hear Eren cheering loudly and chanting “PRESENTS, PRESENTS” over and over. Krista giggled at the cerulean eyed man’s eagerness; a beautiful sound that had everyone else smiling as well.

“ _But first!—”_

“FUCKING _HELL_ CONNIE, COME _ON!”_ Eren and Jean roared simultaneously, and it took everyone by surprise. Those two have never agreed on anything in their life, but right now seemed to be a special occasion. _Everybody_ was cold, and everyone wanted to go inside already, where they didn’t have to worry about their noses freezing off.

“I have to explain the rules! Chill!”

“If we chill any further, we’re _literally_ going to become icicles.” Armin groaned, cheeks and hands flushed entirely red. Why didn’t he have any gloves on? Poor guy!

Connie looked at them all like they were crazy, but soon their miserable looks got to him. “If you let me _explain_ already, then we can go into the Little Titan Café afterwards, and I'll treat you guys to coffee. Sound fair?” he bargained.

Hums of agreement came from everyone, and Sasha’s eyes lit up at the prospect of having some warm food and drinks in her stomach.

“Okay! Each of these candy canes has someone’s name written on it! If you get your own name, put it back and draw again or something. But you can’t tell _anyone else_ what you’re getting your person! And don’t look at who you got until everyone has picked! Oh, and there’s a budget of $20 so don’t go over that.” He explained thoroughly.

Marco gave a stiff smile, brushing aside his bangs before shoving his hands deeper into his thin jacket. “Are you...done?”

“Yes, my freckled friend! And now, the moment you've _all_ been waiting for...let the Secret Santa-ing...begin!” Connie announced with a wide grin.

Eren's face brightened and eyes widened in excitement. Immediately he shoved his way towards the man with a fist full of candy canes. “Hell yes! _Finally!_ I want to go—”

Connie pulled them out of his range, and the brunette gave him a look of betrayal and confusion.

“ _Marco_ has to go first.” The bald man demanded, and he seemed set on his decision.

All heads turned to the freckled man, and he froze up under all of their gazes. “Um.”

The ashen blond gave Connie a look of disbelief. “Are you serious? Just let Jaeger go first, it’ll go faster—”

“No!” he and Sasha shouted simultaneously, silencing Jean and his protests. The bewilderment on his face increased immensely, and when he looked to Marco for an answer he didn’t have, he simply shrugged his shoulders.

But he didn’t want to stay out here any longer than he had to. So, giving into their forceful request, he walked up to Connie and reached for a random candy cane. But when the short man shook his head quickly, he stopped and retracted his hand.

What...?

Marco raised one eyebrow, but reached for a different one regardless. But even still, Connie stubbornly shook his head and glared at the brunette. Marco’s eyes widened in surprise. What did he do wrong? What was he even _supposed_ to do?

After a brief observation, he noticed the bald man gesturing towards a specific one with his eyes, and Marco regarded it with extreme suspicion. Hovering over the one Connie clearly wanted him to pick, he watched as he and Sasha both nodded their heads feverishly with grins on their faces.

Still weary of their intentions, he pulled the candy cane that they were so adamant that he chose. The two of them loudly whispered _'Yessss' ,_ and the brunette shook his head at their strange actions.

“Okay, now Jean has to pick.” Sasha chirped.

Jean groaned loudly and angrily, clearly upset at how difficult they were being. But still, he wanted to make this quick, and marched right up to the bald child who was grinning like he didn't have a care in the world. And Jean  _stared_ at him, making sure they knew he wasn't going to play around. Connie held out the bouquet of candy canes to the frustrated blond, and Marco snickered at the sight. _  
_

One of the treats were sticking out _way_  further than the others, and if that wasn't obvious enough already, Sasha comically leaned over and vigorously pointed to it.

Raising one eyebrow and seeing right through their obvious scheme, he tried to reach for a candy cane that clearly wasn't the one they wanted.

The keyword being _tried._

Right when he almost had it, Connie maneuvered his hand so Jean's hand touched the one that was sticking out. And when he did, like a blaring car alarm going off, Connie began screaming incoherently, while Sasha shook the ashen blond by the shoulders. 

“YOU HAVE TO TAKE THAT ONE YOU TOUCHED IT AND THERE’S NO TAKSIES BACKSIES!” she commanded.

Jean and everyone else flinched at their sudden rowdiness. To prevent them from making another scene like that, he slowly closed his grip around the cane and pulled it from the pile. Flicking her hands off of him, he retreated back to his spot next to Marco, and the bespeckled man could hear him grumbling “ _Fuck_ no taksies backsies”.

When those two finally settled down and Jean was back where he started, Connie lifted the bundle of candy to the sky. “Alright, now everyone else can come pick!” he proclaimed.

Jean gaped disbelievingly at his friend, and at the others just going up there and _grabbing_ one instead of going through the hellish process they did. “Dude! What the—”

“Alright! Now everyone can look at who they got! But remember, you can’t say who your Secret Santa is!” Sasha reminded, and looked down at the name on hers. The others took it as their cue to peek as well.

Looking at the little tag at the bottom of his candy cane, Marco’s heart sped up in his chest as he read the neatly written name.

_Jean._

He couldn’t stop the grin from spreading on his face, and he didn’t try to hide his joy either. This almost felt like a test to see how well he knew Jean, and to see if he could get him something he would actually enjoy. He already knew the blond didn’t have a good relationship with Christmas, so this was the perfect way to start off his best one yet!

As he let out a breathy giggle, he felt somebody watching him, and turned to find Jean trying to peek at his candy cane.

“So who’d you get?” he asked, still trying to look at the name Marco was desperately trying to cover.

“What? Oh, you know.” He squeaked, leaning away from the blond and pinching his lips in an attempt in trying to hide his silly grin. It didn't work very well.

“Aw _c’mon_ , just a peek.”

“No, Jean!”

“What’s the first letter?”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“That’s not even a letter!”

Finally, Marco had to switch to cheap tactics to get him to back off. He leaned as far away as he could, and gave the small blond a pleading look. “Annie! Jean’s cheating!”

Jean flinched and slowly looked over in the direction Marco was speaking, his face going a shade paler. The icy look Annie shot him had even Marco shivering where he stood, and it wasn’t from the cold. Her intimidating glare could freeze over this whole town if she tried hard enough, and he heard Jean gulp beside him.

He let go of Marco’s candy, and stepped away from the brunette with his hands up in surrender. “Alright, fine. Just stop looking at me like that before I keel over and die.”

At his words, her face reverted back to its usual blank state, and she nodded once before returning to her conversation with Bertholdt. Jean aimed a nasty glare at him, but Marco was avoiding his eyes, whistling to himself.

“Can we go to the Little Titan Café now?” Krista asked, and everyone collectively sighed in agreement. Soon, the entire group was heading to that familiar coffee shop and trying not to slip on the ice-laced sidewalk. It was a lot harder than it looked, and Marco's feet may have slid beneath him a handful of times. While they all walked and talked, Marco took the time to think about his Secret Santa.

Things were certainly easier now that he only had _one_ gift to give, but the pressure he would face with trying to find the perfect present might be even worse. Jean deserved the best, and damn it he was going to make sure he got it! As they all walked into the café, he let the warmth from inside envelop him and caress his frost-bitten cheeks. Marco looked over at his dormmate, who was patting his equally red cheeks and looking at their menu. Seeing Jean being that cute only hardened his resolve.

By the end of the day today, he would have the perfect idea of what to get him.

.

..

...

Marco still has no idea what to get him.

The end of the day was steadily approaching, and with no amazing ideas of what to get Jean for Christmas. Random students in his class have tried to help him come up with ideas, but most of them were strange and not something Jean would like. Even Hanji and Professor Levi tossed in their own ideas. Of course, his Science teacher suggested something _completely_ illegal, and his English teacher told him to just ‘buy the brat some clean socks’. He decided not to take their advice.

Throughout the day he tracked down his friends to help him think of a present for his Secret Santa. He could keep it hidden from Jean, but there was no way he was going to be able to keep it from anyone else from the start.

The responses he received varied by a large margin. Some ideas were actually good ones, like a snow globe or art supplies or clothes that weren’t socks. Sasha had suggested he bake something sweet for Jean, and for once the idea wasn’t completely odd given the reason. Meanwhile, Ymir had crudely suggested he give him his dick wrapped with a bow, and he sighed at her perversion. She never knows when to stop, does she?

Annie said that he should buy Jean a necklace, and the thought made his face break out into a nervous sweat and caused his ears to turn red. Wouldn’t that be something a _couple_ would do...? Marco decided that would be coming on a little too strong, but the idea stuck with him the rest of the day.

Mikasa’s idea wasn’t too bad either; she suggested he buy a scarf. Jean _did_ own a lot of scarves already, but that just meant he liked them, right? And it could be Christmas themed too. It sounded nearly  _perfect,_ and yet...

Agh! There were just too many things he wanted to do for Jean! He just wanted to get him everything he could get his hands on, but the brunette knew that was unfortunately unrealistic. All of the ideas were scrambled in his head in a jumbled mess, and he had a hard time telling one apart from the other. They had tried to help him, but in the end there wasn't one solid idea that really stood out to him.

Marco's classes had been over for a while, his backpack and things long since discarded on the floor. His dormmate had just left to get Chinese food for the two of them, just like he loved. He probably had 30 minutes before their door would unlock, and Jean would come home. 30 minutes to think of the perfect Christmas gift.

But no matter how hard he thought, he couldn't decide on the present that would make Jean's first Christmas with him memorable.

So what does one do when they need help with romance?

Call Mina Carolina, of course.

As he tapped on her contact in his phone, he mentally planned out what he was going to say to her. There was no way it could go wrong, no way he could mess this up.

It only rung a few times before a feminine voice answered the line. “Marco?”

Suddenly, _everything_ went wrong. All that he wanted to tell her about came flooding out at once, and in the entirely wrong order. “Mina guy there’s Santa I really crushing and gift? How? Get?”

The line was completely silent for a moment, and for a while he feared he may have scared the poor girl off. He wouldn't blame her, since it was probably the weirdest thing she'd heard all day. But after what seemed like an eternity and a half, she finally replied. “You have a crush on a guy, and you’re doing a Secret Santa, and you have no idea what to get him?”

Marco let out a quick sigh of relief, and his shoulders instantly became less stiff. “How did you understand what I was trying to say, like, _perfectly?”_

“Hm...How long have we been friends again?” Mina pondered, and the brunette nodded in understanding. Mina was one of those people who knew him like the back of her hand, and right now he was really grateful for it.

“True. Okay, but can you help me?” he asked, biting his lip hopefully. If she couldn't help him, then he was doomed for Christmas.

Sarcastically, she gave him in answer, and he could almost imagine her placing one hand her hip. “Just who do you think I am?”

Marco grinned widely, spinning around in his desk chair. “Mina Carolina; the bestest and most beautiful person in the world.”

“Damn right I am!" she giggled, and Mina must have been moving around a lot, because he heard nothing but static and rustling. After a while, the sound settled sound, and she continued talking. "Anyways, I’ve got a couple of ideas in mind...”

Marco listened intently to what she had to say. A few ideas she gave him overlapped the ones already suggested by various friends, but when she combined them together it seemed like the perfect thing to do. _And_ she found incredible deals online that Marco would have never found on his own. One particular combination of ideas brought an eager smile to his face, and that was when he knew it was the one. But he had to act fast, or things could get messy.

Quickly, he thanked her and hung up the phone before punching in the address for that ever-so-famous Reiss Apartment Complex.

He didn't have much time before Jean came home, but Marco figured if he ran fast enough he could be in and out before he returned. He grabbed the spare key to their dorm and dashed out the door fast as lightning.

\------------------------------------------------

Two weeks have passed since then, and the designated day for Secret Santa’s had finally arrived.  To say Marco was nervous about today would be the understatement of the century.

He stood in the middle of their dorm, waiting for Jean to finish getting ready and anxiously fiddling with the handles on the gift-bag he held. Everything made him nervous, The last thing he wanted to do was ruin tonight for Jean, so he had to focus on making everything perfect. He was going to make sure he enjoyed himself, and maybe at the end of the night the blond would be able to say it was the best Christmas he's ever had.

The very thought brought butterflies to his stomach.

"Come on..." Jean mumbled, and Marco turned his attention to him.

The blond was searching around for something under his bed, and from the sound of it he was having a bit of trouble finding it. Tilting his head, he watched Jean wriggle underneath the limited space of his bed, and every now and then he would hear cussing paired with the sound of rustling paper. And unfortunately with no one to stop him Marco couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to Jean’s ass. How could he, when it looked so nice when he shifted _just_ right? God damnit, why did he decide to wear _those_ jeans out of all the non-revealing ones he owned?

...Maybe he should help him out instead of ogling him like a piece of meat. Marco felt his cheeks heat up with shame, and he cleared his throat. “What are you doing down there?”

He wasn't overly loud or anything, but his words were apparently enough to startle Jean. He jumped up under his bed, and sadly right above his head were rows of metal bars. A loud clang resounded throughout the room, and Marco flinched at how painful it sounded. But the blond ignored it aside from hissing every now and then, and crawled out from under the bed.

“It’s nothing!” he quickly dismissed, still rubbing at the back of his head. “Come on, let’s go.”

Confused, Marco nodded once before heading outside of their dorm and waiting for the blond to come out. Except instead of following him out the door, Marco heard the distinct sound of their door closing and locking. What the—

Marco tried to open the door, but the knob was locked into place, and he, locked out. He didn’t even have the key since Jean was the one who was holding onto it for the night.

As he grew more and more bewildered, he knocked a few times on the door. “Jean, why did you lock the door?”

“Why did _you_ lock the door?” he tested, and Marco groaned loudly at his games.

“You _know_ that I didn’t. What are you doing in there?” Marco inquired, trying to open the door once again.

The sound of frantic footsteps and rustling paper were strangely loud, and he nearly missed Jean speaking because of it. “Nothing! Just...hold on!”

After a minute or two and no sign of Jean leaving the room, impatience and curiosity got the better of him. Raising a fist, he pounded against their door several times. But before he could shout any sarcastic comments, a loud crashing sound and thud came from inside, followed by a distinct “FUCKING HELL”.

Well _that_ didn’t sound good. Anxiously, Marco knocked lighter this time and called to his friend. “Jean? Are you—”

Marco was abruptly cut off by the unlocking and opening of their door, with a flushed Jean on the other side. He came spilling out of their room, and Marco could have sworn he saw a desk chair on its side in the middle of the room. But before he could confirm the sight Jean was slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned his entire body weight against it, and shakily let out a deep breath. But once he'd opened his amber eyes again, he nearly jumped out of his skin at the sight of him.

Why the hell was Jean being so jumpy tonight? What did he even  _do_ in there?

“H-Hey!” Jean greeted cheerfully to the point where it almost sounded artifical. A wide, twitching grin was on his face, and it was so out of character that he couldn’t help but snicker.

Marco folded his arms across his chest and smiled. “Hi, Jean.”

The blond looked like he’d just run a marathon; his face was red, and his breath was coming out in short puffs. Yep,  _nothing_ strange going on at  _all._

“Are you going to tell me what was going on in there? Or...?” he trailed off, hoping he would provide him with an explanation as to why it sounded like he let a herd of elephants loose in their dorm.

“Nope! Now hurry up, Freckles. You’re making us late to the party.” He scolded before quickly locking the door and jogging ahead of them.

That was...weird. But with Jean already leaving him behind, he didn’t have a chance to continue his interrogation.

“It’ll be your fault if we’re late! _I_ wasn’t the one who locked me out and stayed in there for twenty years!” Marco cried, following after his energetic crush.

It didn’t take him long to catch up to him, and soon they were on their way to their Secret Santa/Christmas Party.

.

..

...

This was another extremely important and crucial thing Marco had learned from The College Experience **™** ; **a** nything and everything involved a party of some kind. Whether it was because break started, or because finals were over, or simply because they wanted an excuse to drink and have fun, there was always one going on  _somewhere._

Despite Marco’s worries, they weren’t late to the party at all. For once, they ended up being one of the first few to show up. They knocked on the large wooden door, and didn’t have to wait long before thundering footsteps came closer and closer to the entrance. The door was swung wide open, and the two of them were met with the towering figure known as Reiner.

“Ho Ho Ho! Glad you could make it!” Reiner greeted boisterously, and the freckled man laughed as Jean physically recoiled from his loudness. Or was it the pungent smell of alcohol on his breath?

Either way, the blond beefcake was excited for the festivities to come, and it showed. _Especially_ in his outfit. It was only now that Marco noticed the huge, fake white beard on his face. He was even dressed in a red Santa suit, complete with black boots and a belt to match.

“Childhood ruined.” Jean mumbled as he looked him up and down, and Marco couldn’t hold back his snickering.

Once Reiner finally remembered to step aside to let them in, Marco’s eyes were drawn to the decorations they hung up. And his eyes lit up brighter than the sun, because when he looked at the front room, there was a beautiful green Christmas tree standing in the corner! Though it _was_ hilariously small, made of plastic, and assaulted with pine scented car fresheners. Still, it was an adorable tree, and it was _theirs!_

Decorating its plastic branches was a long string of popcorn, along with random things from around the room like socks, shoes, beer cans, and paper ornaments. The star on top was replaced with an angel made of a cut up paper plate, yellow pipe cleaners, and silver glitter. It looked more like a kindergartener’s art project than something made by a college student, but it’s the thought that counts.

Even the walls were decorated with homemade things, like paper snowflakes ranging in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Some of them were very nicely made, with perfect symmetrical ends, while others...Well, at least they tried. His friends weren’t the most artistic around, were they?

And the food smelled _amazing._ He would have to find out whoever made it all and thank them  _immensely_. His mouth was watering just thinking about devouring everything in that kitchen later. No dish would be safe while he was around, that was for sure. But he would wait a little while longer before ransacking the kitchen.

Looking at decorations reminded Marco that earlier this week Annie had asked to borrow some of his Christmas lights. He thought he’d see them hung up on the walls somewhere, but there weren’t anywhere to be found. Where on Earth did they go...?

Well, it wasn’t too important right now. He could always ask about it later if he needed to. Jean had already gone over to socialize with the few people who were here, though he had a mean glare directed towards one of the people sitting down.

On the couch, Mikasa and Eren were talking to each other, the latter speaking animatedly about something while she listened intently. Mikasa was wearing her trademark red scarf paired with a soft looking white sweater, and the first thing that came to mind was _cute._ Not something he would normally associate someone as tough or intimidating as her, but it was a pleasant change nonetheless. And Eren’s outfit really lit up the room. _Literally_. He was wrapped up in Christmas lights that looked oddly familiar to the brunette, and _ah._ So _that’s_ where his Christmas lights went.

He didn't really think about it until now, but the thought of Mikasa and Jean talking to each other ceased to bother him anymore. Ever since Halloween, something had changed about the way Jean talked to and greeted him compared to the others. The raven haired girl had stopped flirting with him too, and he couldn’t help but wonder if something happened between them besides  _that thing._  Either way, he felt more reassured around him now, and not wanting to stand by himself any longer he walked over to join them.

When the cerulean-eyed man noticed Marco had joined their group, he stopped mid-sentence to fit in a quick ‘Hey!’ before going back to talking about real Christmas trees being the only way to go during the holidays. Mikasa shook her head, but she still listened to his energetic argument anyway.

Jean was seated next to her, rolling his eyes at his weak defense and crossing his legs. “Are you fuckin’ stupid? Real trees are so much _work,_ and they’re messy as hell. Why bother?”

Eren gaped at him, and gave him an incredulous look. “But it’s so awesome when you finally put it up! You can just stand back and look at it and say ‘Wow, I did this!’ instead of ‘Wow, I bought this from Target for $40!’” he mocked, arms gesturing wildly to the plastic tree in the corner.

The ashen blond leaned forwards on his elbows, a harsh glare stuck to his face. “And what are you gonna do _after_ Christmas, huh? You’ve just got a giant dead tree in your living room, and who’s the one that’s got to clean it up again, _genius?”_

“The cleaning isn’t shit in comparison to the wonderful, crisp, pine tree smell you can only get from _real_ trees.” He countered, leaning in just as far.

“Ever heard of pine scented car fresheners? Or _candles?”_

“It’s not the same and you fucking know it, Kirschtein!” he shouted, standing up from his seat, and Mikasa looked at him sternly. The hot-headed college student ignored it.

“There’s no fucking difference you Holiday freak!” he barked just as loud, standing up and getting as much in his face as possible. Marco’s eyebrows creased with worry. They were practically touching foreheads at this point, gritting their teeth and growling at each other like feral animals. Why they had to fight over _every_ little thing, he had no idea.

Just as he and Mikasa were about to scold and/or separate them before they could get into an actual fight, they heard several people file into the room.

“Ooh, a fight!” Sasha exclaimed, bouncing over with Connie trailing behind her. He was chanting ‘Fight Fight Fight’ with a wide grin on his face. Both he and Sasha were dressed in all brown with antlers on top of their head, and the latter even had her nose painted red.

“Don’t start it without me!” Ymir called, dragging her girlfriend in behind her with a wild Cheshire cat grin on her face. Nothing about her outfit was festive in the least, and he couldn’t say he was surprised.

“Please don’t fight!” Krista called, keeping up with the tall freckled girl’s fast pace, one small hand gripping a gift bag. Compared to her girlfriend’s bland outfit, the adorable girl was dressed in a white and blue snowflake patterned cardigan, and wore soft fuzzy-looking boots. And to top it all off, she had earmuffs with _more_ snowflakes on them, protecting her from the cold. Marco felt the strong urge to hug her, or maybe pinch her cheeks. That much cuteness in one person should be illegal!

Ymir looked around for the fight excitedly, but by now Eren and Jean had separated and gone off to different ends of the room. Marco saw her visibly deflate at having missed the action, and Krista looked like she was torn between patting her sympathetically on the back or scolding her for looking for a fight in the first place.

Armin quietly walked in after the commotion had died down, with a Santa hat that was just a little too big for him adorning his head. For once, he had even let his hair down. It was getting a little long, the fringe of his bangs nearly reaching his eyes. When he saw Marco, he waved cheerfully, his hands nearly covered by the large jacket he wore. The tall brunette smiled nervously back, and subconsciously wiped the sweat off of his palms. _Why was everyone here so cute today?!_

“Sounds like a party in here.”

Annie emerged from a room in the hallway, and behind her trailed the colossal titan that was Bertholdt. He was rubbing his eye and blearily looking around at the sudden increase of people, and let out a huge, sleepy yawn. His clothes and the long, bright green hat he wore were wrinkled, and the bell around his neck jingled with every stumble he took further into the room. Was...he supposed to be an elf? Marco found that hilariously ironic, but he kept his comments to himself as the two of them exited the hallway.

Annie wore an extremely short Mrs. Claus outfit, except for the painful high-heeled boots. Instead, she opted for thigh high socks printed to _look_ like boots, which were probably a lot more bearable. She looked equally as tired as her friend, but then again her expression always was a little more on the angry side.

Everyone in the room loved her outfit, some for different reasons than others, and she only rolled her eyes at their reactions. “I know, aren’t hyper-sexualized costumes just the _best?”_ she drawled, and all the girls in the room nodded, understanding her pain. It was nearly impossible to find a women's costume that wasn't designed to look like a stripper's performance outfit.

Reiner came stumbling into the front room from outside. His grin could barely be seen behind his curly beard but it was easy to tell how excited he was. “Hey, you’re awake! And everyone’s here!”

“Astute observation, Reiner.” Armin noted, and everyone snorted at his comment. Even Reiner laughed, though that may have been because he was too tipsy to pick up on the sarcasm.

“ _Anyways,_ since everyone is finally here, that means we can get this party _started!_ ” Reiner exclaimed, pumping his fist into the air. Friends all around cheered with him, and they were all _so_ loud, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, since he was cheering just as forcefully.

Marco couldn’t help the budding excitement in his stomach even if he wanted to, and an involuntarily wide grin broke out on his face. And when he looked to his left, he was relieved to see his best friend was having as good of a time as he was. But when Jean turned to look back at Marco, he didn’t miss how his amber gaze softened and his beautiful smile widened at the sight of him.

_**Badump.** _

The freckled man tore away his gaze, instead opting for staring at the Christmas tree in front of him. His face felt like it was _burning;_ was it actually on fire? He could feel it coming off of his cheeks in waves, and he nervously brought a hand to his chest. That was...

_Why did he look at me like that?_

It had really caught him off guard, if his own reactions were anything to go by. He felt extremely flustered, as if he had been caught doing something bad, but he hadn’t been. Marco was just looking at Jean, and his dormmate looked at _him_ almost as if...

“IT’S TIME TO GET _WASTED!!!”_ Reiner cheered, his words snapping him away from his train of thought. Reiner was then trying to make a beeline for the kitchen where bottles of beer and liquor were sure to be lined up.

“Um!”

Bertholdt spoke up above the beefcake’s woops, stopping said beefcake in his tracks. And though his voice was loud it was easy to tell that he was uncomfortable with all the attention on him. He cleared his throat once and continued on.

“Shouldn’t we like...do Secret Santa first? Before we’re too drunk to forget?”

People all around nodded in agreement, as if saying “fair enough”.

“IT’S TIME FOR SECRET SANTA’S!!!” Reiner edited, and this time all of his friends cheered along with them. One by one they brought out their gifts, and there was an air of giddiness all around. Marco couldn’t wait to find out who got him a gift; he was sure no matter who it was from, he would love it.

Eren stood on top of the couch, and his presence demanded attention. “ALRIGHT EVERYONE, ARE YOU READY?!”

Another loud round of cheers resounded in the room. For a moment Marco was afraid they would get in trouble for being so loud, but his anxiousness was quickly washed away when he remembered where he was, what he was doing, and who he was with. Now was the time to enjoy himself to the fullest, and not worry about a thing.

“ON THE COUNT OF THREE!” Sasha declared, and Eren pointed to her in agreement.

“ONE! TWO! THREE! TRADE!!!” the barista shouted, and everyone immediately went to work.

Marco watched as friends gave gifts, and received some of their own, each person excited about what they got. Eren especially, since he was practically drooling over the mountain of candy he’d gotten from Krista. Mikasa promptly warned him not to eat it all in one sitting, but the look in his eye revealed just how much he was going to heed her warning.

Mikasa had gotten Reiner a t-shirt printed to look like the belly of a penguin, and he had never seen a grown man so excited over a kids shirt in his life. Immediately he ripped off his beard and Santa top, and replaced it with the skin-tight gift she had gotten him. It was a little too small, since his toned stomach showed every time he lifted his arms, but Reiner didn’t look like he minded.

Ymir’s Secret Santa had been Reiner, and Marco saw him give her a journal of some kind. For a moment, she looked at it with distaste, but when she realized what the book was she cackled loudly and heartily, slapping Reiner on the back a few times. Proudly, she raised it above her head like some kind of rendition of the Lion King, and as people crowded around the gift they snorted at the title. After a minute or two of squinting, he finally accepted that no, he couldn’t read from all the way over here, and walked over to her.

“What did Reiner get you?” Marco asked, leaning over to read what the journal said.

“The Gay Agenda!” she squealed, and shoved the journal in his freckled face so he could get a better look. It was literally titled “The Gay Agenda”, and he had to applaud Reiner for finding such a great gift.

Ymir’s gift to Bertholdt had been a box of condoms, and after whispering something into the nervous man’s ear, he turned _beet_ red. His head whipped around to look at Reiner, who was drunkenly strutting across the room in his new penguin T-shirt, which he wore with pride. She laughed at his embarrassment, while the poor guy looked like he wanted to hide away. No one was safe from Ymir’s crudeness, _no one._

The rest of the gifts were much less eventful than the others. Eren gave Annie a pair of boxing gloves, Armin bought Krista a small yet very cute snow globe, and Bertholdt got Armin a book of puns which he swiftly put to use much to Eren’s obvious dismay. Hilariously enough, Connie and Sasha ended up getting each other’s names, and promptly traded gifts.

Everyone else had already exchanged with each other and received a present too.

Everyone except for himself and...

“Hey.” His dormmate smiled, looking up at him with those eyes that made him weak in the knees.

“H-Hey Jean!” Marco stuttered, and his grip unconsciously tightened on the handles of his gift bag.

“Looks like they’re not the only ones who got each other, huh?” he noted, and Marco gulped as he got closer to him. He could smell his _amazing_ cologne (or was that just his natural smell?), and it was starting to get to his head.

He tried his best to calm his racing heart, but it continued to hammer in his chest. “Yeah, looks like it.”

“Sooooo,” Jean began, and nudged him several times comically. The grin never wavered on his face, and Marco subconsciously bit his lip. “...what did you get me, Bodt?”

Marco started slightly, and quickly remembered what he was meant to be doing. “Well, I mean, I had a really hard time deciding what to get you, so uh, don’t...hate it?” he laughed nervously, and finally built up the courage to hand him the bag in his hands.

Watching him open the gift he got him was probably one of the most anxiety inducing things he’d had done in a long time. Every rustle of paper made his heart leap to his throat, and it was driving him _crazy_. He didn’t say anything the entire time he opened it, and after a moment of silence passed he got even more nervous. _What if he hates it? What if it’s not what he wants? What if he laughs at it? What if he throws it away? What if—_

“...M-Marco?”

_Oh god it sounded like he was crying, you made him cry for god’s sake, you idiot!_

Before he could doubt himself any further, he felt a head bump into his shoulder and two strong arms wrapped around his neck. It took a second for him to realize it was Jean, and when he pulled away Marco saw that cute, wobbly smile on his face. Only then did he realize that he wasn’t crying out of sadness, but out of _joy._

“Jean, are you okay?” Marco fretted. He had no idea whether to feel sad or concerned or happy and _shit_ he might start crying too if he’s not careful.

“I’m fucking fine you d-dork, I just...you really didn’t have to do this.”

As soon as the blond stepped back, he finally stared down at the long, soft, red and white Christmas scarf with reindeer and snowflakes printed on it. Underneath it he was holding the sketchbook Marco had bought him, and on top was a container filled with chocolate and vanilla cupcakes he had made with Krista.

They were all fairly simple things, but Marco knew how much these meant to the Jean, who hadn’t known the kindness of a real gift in far too long. Still, he felt bashful about his reaction, and it showed. “I mean, I only bought the scarf and the sketchbook for like $18, and the cupcakes don’t count as a price because those are homemade.”

Jean stared down at the treats in his hand, and then looked up at Marco in disbelief. “You _made_ these cupcakes?”

Again, all the brunette could do was blush and flick between staring at Jean’s beautiful expression and the plain wall. “I mean...yeah?” he laughed, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. He’d been doing this for years, so by now the cupcakes he made were nearly store-bought quality.

“I can’t believe you actually went through with your promise.” Jean whispered. Marco had a feeling those words weren’t meant for his ears, so he simply smiled and let Jean think about whatever he needed to. There was a distant look in his eyes, but instead of being empty voids like they normally were when he got like this, they were filled with adoration and... _bliss_. Marco smiled even wider before saying one last thing.

“Merry Christmas, Jean!” he rejoiced, and ruffled his hair playfully. Really, he just wanted an excuse to touch with his hair, but his dormmate didn’t need to know that. It was brief, but feeling those soft locks between his fingers was definitely worth the risk of Jean biting his hand off. Fortunately, Jean was in a good mood, so he only grumbled slightly about it.

His best friend scoffed, and gave Marco that lopsided smirk he loved. “Thank you.”

The freckled man wasn’t sure how much of that was meant for the present in his hands. And speaking of gifts...

This time, it was the brunette’s turn to bother his dormmate by nudging him. “So? Don’t keep me in the dark forever, what did you get for me?”

Jean looked him dead in the eye, and drained all emotion from his face before answering. “I didn’t get you anything.”

Marco scoffed and rolled his eyes, not believing him for one second. “Yeah, right. Tell me!” he demanded.

“I got you a bag of dog shit.” he shrugged, but he couldn’t keep that shit-eating grin from his face, and Marco huffed.

“Come on. Please?” he begged, looking at Jean with large doe-like eyes. If anything, this was guaranteed to get his dormmate to crack, and from the conflicted look on his face it doing its magic.

“I can’t give it to you until later.” Jean revealed, shuffling where he stood and crossing his arms defensively.

Marco looked at him in confusion. “What? Why can’t I have it now?”

The blonds’ cheeks turned pink at his words, but he still refused to lift his whiskey eyes to his own brown ones. “It’s...a surprise.”

_**Badump.** _

A surprise? Why did it have to be a surprise? Curiosity and frustration brought a pout to his face, and he scrunched his eyebrows in thought. Just what was he planning?

While he was stuck thinking of what his present could be, the others had begun to wander in and out of the kitchen for food and drinks, and Marco’s concentrated look was replaced with glee when he remembered all of the delicious food he smelled when he first arrived. Marco trotted over to the kitchen, and wasn't surprised to see Sasha piling her plate high.

Once he’d stacked his own three-story high plate with calories, he looked at their selection of drinks. Hard liquor was available for anyone who wished for it, but Marco’s eyes were drawn to the bottles of beer instead. He didn’t want to drink _too_ much tonight, so if he limited himself to a beer or two, he should be just fine.

Unfortunately, that’s not how it always works out at parties, especially when friends with very little self-control are involved. At one point, Armin loudly complained about Ymir’s lack of Christmas gear, and stole Reiner’s Santa hat to give it to her. She accepted it gratefully, and the two of them drank together, laughing wildly the whole time. It was weird seeing the two of them act all buddy-buddy, buy hey, if it works it works.

Games of all kinds were played, from Charades to Pictionary to Holiday Sausages, and inevitably, drinking games. Marco briefly remembered back when he had been so terrified to drink for the first time, but now it came almost as easy as drinking sparkling cider.

They all ended up watching The Grinch together. Not that annoying Jim Carrey version, but the classic animated 1960’s version. And every time someone said something that rhymed with “who”, or the Grinch made a particularly evil face, or a song started up, everyone had to take a sip of their drink. Some people had to back out before the end of the movie, but when it finally finished everyone had their fair share of alcohol in their system.

So much for keeping it to two drinks.

Once the credits began to roll, Connie rolled over on the floor, his face flushed and a big scowl on his face as if he was trying his hardest to concentrate. Then, suddenly his face lit up, and his eyes widened comically. “Hey, Hey, Sasha! Do you remember _The Veins?”_

Sasha thought for a second, and then smiled loosely as she slurred her answer. _“_ Oh yeah! Girls and guys went _nuts_ over you that day, Marco! It was _soooo_ funny, Jean, _Jean-bo_ you should have seen how red his face was at all that attention!”

Krista tilted her head to the side curiously. “What are _The Veins?”_

“When a person’s forearms are really muscular, their veins tend to pop out, and a lot of people find it really attractive.” Annie responded, easing into the conversation slickly.

“Yeah, he was getting complimented left and right. And it made Hanji go into a huge lecture about muscles or some shit.” Connie scowled, though Marco couldn’t tell if he was jealous over the attention or angry that he had to listen to their lecture. Frankly, the freckled man couldn’t tell a _lot_ of things right now, but that was alright. He felt floaty and happy and that was all that mattered.

Jean quirked one eyebrow and crossed his legs where he sat. “Well now I feel like we _have_ to see.”

“Yeah, come on! Give us tickets to the gun show!” Armin cheered, and a few people joined him with encouraging words.

Marco was definitely more buzzed than he originally planned, and so after only a moment’s hesitation he put down his drink and stood in the middle of the room. People all around him wolf whistled at the sight, which only served to spur him on further.

[X](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQa7SvVCdZk) Somebody had begun to blast “Lady Marmalade” overhead instead of Christmas music, and the brunette couldn’t be more grateful.  This type of song would bring him a burst of confidence he would need to enjoy this to the fullest.

Once the music finally started going, he felt himself grin slyly as he mouthed the first beginning lyrics, hips swaying from side to side to the beat. The excited cheers around him made him smile even wider, and he found he was actually having a good time. Marco had always enjoyed dancing, though he never had the nerve to do it in front of this many people before. The alcohol helped with that a lot.

As the first verse started up, he bit his lip seductively and allowed his eyes to become heavy lidded, feeling the lyrics flowing through his body. He even made it into a small strip tease, slowly zipping down his jacket and rolling down one shoulder to reveal the first bit of toned bicep covered by his tight shirt. Thank _god_ he wore that three-quarter sleeve shirt that showed off his forearms today. He could give everyone, especially _Jean_ a little show that he wouldn’t be able to resist.

When the chorus hit, all the energy inside of him burst forth, and he flung aside his jacket to the other side of the room. He heard the applause and cheering increase at his movements, but he couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to them any further. He was fully immersed in the song, even singing aloud to the lyrics, eyes entirely closed in ecstasy. He knew this song by heart; he can’t count the amount of times he used to sing and dance to this song when he was in High School. And now he couldn’t stop himself, dropping down and dragging his hands up his body just as the singers had done in a display of seduction. Once, he had even gestured to Jean with his fingers and a shake of his body, and without watching his reaction he moved onto the next bit of the song.

He felt so damn powerful, sassy, and _sexy,_ that he couldn’t help but slowly roll his hips whenever he could, his arms raised above his head. His body felt like a cobra, entrancing anyone who dared to watch Marco Bodt and his liquid hips dance his heart out to “Lady Marmalade”.

When the music finally ended, Marco was breathing hard and his face was probably flushed.  Only then did he open his eyes.

And _everyone_ was staring at him in awe.

“Holy _shit!”_

 _“_ Bodt’s got some serious moves!”

“And hips! Oh my _god_ why didn’t you tell us your arms weren’t your only strong point?!”

“Marco Bodt has an amazing Marco _Butt_!”

All of his friends were completely ecstatic over his dancing abilities, though the brunette didn’t have much of an idea on what just happened. It was like his mind blanked out, and his body decided to take control. And apparently they liked it a lot! The first time he danced in front of this many people, and they loved what he could do! And Jean was—

Jean was staring at him like he’d just preformed the magic trick of the century.

“Jean-bo! Did you know he could do that?” Sasha shouted, hanging off of his shoulder. It was only now that Marco noticed how red Jean’s face was. He was gaping and trying to speak, but it didn’t look like he could form any words. Eventually, he just opted for hiding his face as he drank.

“Well his _dick_ certainly knows now.” Eren jested, and Jean inhaled in the middle of a large gulp. His eyes bugged out and he started to choke, the barista pounding his back while laughing at his reaction. Once he’d recovered, Jean avoided eye contact with anyone and his face grew two shades darker. His lips were set in a thin line, and the blond elbowed the obnoxious and crude man in the stomach, effectively cutting off his cackles and replacing them with a groan.

But what stood out to him was that Jean wasn’t denying it at all. There was no flustered “You idiot, no!” or “Ew, that’s gross!” or “Fuck off”, just him sitting with his sketchbook strategically placed in front of him.

_**Badump.** _

Blood steadily rushed to his face like a thermometer, and it finally registered that he practically _stripped_ in front of all his friends, _including_ the guy he was madly in love with. Self consciousness began eating away at him, and with his ears burning he sat down on the couch to prevent anyone else from staring at his ass. Marco felt like a pot of steaming tomatoes, the heat coming off of him in waves.

He hadn't noticed Annie silently walk over to him in her silent socks. And for some reason, without saying a word, she placed a small hand on his shoulder. For once, he found comfort in how little she said, and Marco lifted his head from his hands.

“We all do weird things when we’re drunk.” She consoled, and Marco felt himself loosen up at her words. If the cool and collected Annie had admitted to doing weird stuff when tipsy, he could feel a bit better about dancing like that in front of everyone.

He looked up at her with large, chocolate brown eyes. “What...what kind of stuff have you done?”

Something flashed in her eyes akin to mischief, and if he hadn’t been watching he would have missed the lop-sided smirk that came onto her face. For a brief moment, the ice around her guarded expression thawed, and she seemed to be reminiscing in something.

“Do you remember when we played Never Have I Ever at the Halloween party?” she asked, and Marco slowly nodded once, remembering it well. “And you know how one of the questions was ‘Never Have I ever been in handcuffs’, and Reiner, Bertl and I all put down a finger?”

Holy shit. After all these months, was he finally going to figure out what happened between them? Back then he had wondered what had gone down, but he'd forgotten about it until now. And now that it was brought back up his desire to know the truth increased ten-fold. Thousands of possibilities entered his mind at once, and he had a hard time choosing which one would be the most probable.

The best way to find out what happened would be to wait and listen, and that's just what he was doing. Sitting at the edge of the couch, he stared at her expectantly.

Annie looked him in the eye, tucked her bangs behind her ear, took in a deep, suspenseful breath...

And walked away.

No further explanation, no juicy details, no thrilling back-story. _Nothing_. At least he wasn't focused on his little dance performance anymore, since Annie had left him with the biggest cliff hanger in the history of the world. She just walked back to her friends as if Marco wasn't dying to hear her story!

_Why the hell was she smiling about it, and why the hell were they drunk and in handcuffs?!_

_._

..

...

By the end of the night, everyone seemed to be utterly exhausted and ready to sleep. Reiner was kind enough to let people crash here if they wanted to. Some people had already passed out earlier, and were haphazardly being covered with blankets by Annie and Bertholdt.

Any other time he might have accepted his offer, but the look Jean gave him silently asked him to decline. Which he was more than okay with; right now Marco wanted nothing more than to sleep in his own bed, and think about the amazing night he’s had.

There were so many decorations, and so much good food, and drinks, and _friends._ Marco will never stop thinking of how grateful he is to have made such chill and accepting friends here in Trost. When he first arrived here, he remembered how afraid he was that he wouldn’t make a single friend, but look at him now! _And_ they actually enjoyed his company, and listened to what he had to say. To have such close friends here made his heart feel comfortably warm and loved, and he was pretty sure nothing tonight could top it.

The two of them waved goodbye to anyone who was still coherent enough to speak up, and with that they left Reiner’s place and entered the freezing winter night.

The frozen ground beneath his feet was satisfying to say the last, but they tried to keep their walk brisk considering how the cold bit through their coats. But the whole time they travelled Marco could tell that Jean was extremely tense. His dormmate kept switching from staring straight ahead to trying to sneak glances at him from the side. Even his arms were folded and hunched close to him, with his fingers drumming nervously against his bicep. Normally Marco wouldn’t be so worried about these things, but tonight he seemed to give off an especially large wave of nervousness, which in turn made _Marco_ anxious.

When they finally got to their building, Marco thought Jean was going to bolt off into the night. He had this ‘fight or flight’ look about him that just didn’t settle right with the brunette. And he kept jogging ahead of them, and then jogging in place as he waited for the freckled man to catch up. Jean was usually the one dragging behind them, so this definitely raised his suspicion

The short distance across their hallway seemed like the longest journey in the world tonight, and once again Jean had jogged ahead of them and waited for him at the door. Nervously, he was fiddling with the edges of his new scarf he got from Marco. Once he caught up with him though, instead of unlocking the door like he expected him to, Jean simply stood there.

Waiting for something.

Marco stood in front of him, his cold hands inside of his pockets in an attempt to recover from the freezing temperatures outside. “Uh...are you going to go inside?”

Jean’s breath hitched, and he looked as stiff as a board and almost...scared?

Concern laced his tone this time, as he stepped closer to his best friend. “Are you o—”

“Close your eyes.” Jean ordered, and this time his face filled with determination. He still looked scared shitless, but it looks like he’d resolved himself to do _something._

__**Badump.** _ _

Not wanting to argue, he closed his eyes and waited for a little while, before something soft and warm pulled his hands out of his pockets and held them. It only took him a moment to realize that it was _Jean_ who was holding his hands, and he felt his heart pound. Hesitantly, Marco squeezed back, and felt one of Jean's hands slip away to presumably open the door.

Carefully, Jean led him inside, and Marco’s curiosity was at its peak. Was this the present he promised to give him later? Whatever was going on, the brunette was extremely excited for it, and relied on all of his other senses to tell him what was going on.

Soon, Jean had released his other hand as well, but not without the order to stay where he was, and, well, who was he to disobey? He let his hands fall to his side, and Marco stretched his hearing to try and figure out what the blond was doing. But all he heard was something clanking against a wall for a few seconds. And suddenly, there was music playing all around him. Soft, gentle, calming music that immediately caused him to loosen up. What was going on?

Marco could sense someone standing in front of him, and it took all of his effort not to open his eyes right then and there. But, he was going to wait until Jean said it was okay.

The figure in front of him took in a shaky breath, and when he spoke again his voice was much steadier. “Okay...open your eyes.”

Slowly, he cracked open one eye, and when he got a peek of what was in store for him he couldn’t help opening them both all the way, a small gasp escaping him.

The room was completely dark, all except for the golden, twinkling Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling, almost appearing as if they were magically floating in mid-air. And all throughout the room, giant paper stars with holes drilled in them were hung around, spreading small beams of light where the streams of Christmas ones couldn’t reach.

Beside his desk lamp was a small, white, crystallized Christmas tree with a rounded golden star standing proudly on top. It was plugged into Marco’s laptop by a USB, and slowly, ever so slowly, it changed from different shades of green, to ice blue, to purple, and back to white again. Marco felt entirely enchanted by it, watching it go through its cycle several times before he reluctantly pulled his gaze away and continued to observe the room.

Their beds were covered with a _ton_ of thick, comfortable looking blankets. They formed a sort of blanket fort, and Marco’s heart jumped for joy at the sight of it. When was the last time he got to go inside of a blanket fort? It had to have been years, and it was probably with Myriam.

It was difficult to see it before, but leaning against the wall were two red socks, filled with what looked to be candy, beer, and his favorite dessert in the world; Hoho’s. Memories of the first real time he got to know Jean invaded his thoughts, making him sigh happily. The poor socks were almost bursting at the seams, and they looked so festive and adorable he couldn’t help letting out a giddy laugh at the sight.

**_Badump._ **

His heart was racing at a million miles an hour, and Marco genuinely feared that Jean would be able to hear it from there. Everything in this room, Jean had done for _him,_ and he found it hard to breathe all of a sudden. All these decorations, the stockings, the candy, he had done with his best interest in heart, and it was overwhelmed him in the best way possible.

“Jean...oh my _god,_ it’s...” he began, but had to stop mid-sentence because he felt like he might start crying.

“Do you remember that first day we hung out, like, _really_ hung out?” Jean asked, his eyes steady on him the entire time.

Marco let out a wobbly smile. “Y-yeah, I do. You were...You felt really bad for getting me in trouble in Professor Levi’s. So you asked for my number, and came armed with like th-three bags of candy.” He reminisced with a slight chuckle. Marco distinctly remembered the blond telling him he was going to have a “kick-ass time”.

Jean sauntered over to their blanket fort of a bed, and pulled back one of the covers hanging from the top. Then, he looked over his shoulder at the overwhelmed freckled man with a smirk, and revealed his open laptop with the Netflix home screen displayed on it. “You ready for round two?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “Yes please.”

“But first...” his dormmate began, and walked back to stand directly in front of the brunette, and extremely close too. _God,_ he smelled _amazing. Jean_ was amazing.

He really, really loved him.

“You need to close your eyes again.”

_**Badump.** _

Marco felt both anxious and excited at the prospect of more, but enough was enough. “Jean, this is too much, I can’t let you—”

“No, just let me do this. I need to...please?” He whispered, and the freckled man could clearly hear the uncertainty in his voice. Again, he was fiddling with his scarf, and Marco couldn’t help but blush at how desperate he seemed to do what he needed to.

So who was he to argue anymore?

Slowly, he closed his eyes, just as instructed. And again, he had to try and figure out by sound alone what Jean was planning on doing. For one reason or another, he felt much more nervous about this present than the others, and he couldn’t keep his heart-rate down for the life of him.

_**Badump.** _

“C-Can you put out your hands?” Jean requested.

It was only then that Marco registered just how shaky his hands were. Taking a deep breath, he tried to get his hands to stay still as he extended them slightly in front of him.

Something thick and smooth was placed in his hands, and Marco had a hard time figuring out what it was. Paper...?

_**Badump.** _

He was almost too distracted by the mystery item to notice the slender hands placed on his shoulders. But there was no way he could miss the soft pair of lips that hesitantly pressed against his own. Marco felt his mind try and catch up with his body, and once it did he felt an overwhelming amount of shock and disbelief, but more than anything, he felt like he was buzzing with happiness.

_**Badump.** _

_Jean was kissing him...!_

It was short and sweet, and full of nervousness and reserve that he desperately wanted to lean into. But as soon as the sensation came it was gone just as fast, and the brunette found himself wishing he had leaned in just a little sooner, or kissed back, or done _something_ other than stand there like an idiot _._ It was only his first kiss with Jean, and he was already craving more of it within seconds.

“O-Okay...now, open your eyes...a-and look at what’s in your hands.”

His voice was filled with so many emotions, that it was hard to tell what he was truly feeling. Opening them didn't help; his amber eyes were filled with a hundred more, making it too difficult to decipher

In the moment, Marco had almost forgotten there was something in his hands, and he looked down to begin to inspect it.

It was a paper, like he predicted. Well, more like a poster with sets of questions on them. Marco tilted his head, confused, but he was distracted by the small doodles on the edges of it. They were all of him; he recognized these drawings anywhere. He had gotten closer with Jean because of them after all. They were all so small and adorable, every single one decorated with a helping of freckles, angel wings, and a halo. There was even a small Professor Levi, just like he had drawn all those months ago.

A small laugh escaped him at the sight, but there was much more to be seen. After all, the main piece of this poster was the questions listed one after another in a large, sharp font he recognized as Jean's handwriting.

          1.)  _What’s the first name of the actor in the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air? ______ Smith_

Marco blinked a few times. Was he supposed to answer it? The answer was pretty easy; Will.

          2.)  _What letter comes after T? _______

U came after T, so the answer is U...?

          3.)  _What’s the opposite of stop? _______

The opposite of stop? It was go, right?

Wait...go? Marco read back over the questions he’d already answered, and gears quickly began to turn in his head. He covered his mouth, and disbelief flooded his mind.

**_Badump._ **

          4.)  _Strike one! Strike two! Strike three, you’re _______

Out, the answer was out, and Marco felt a smile creep up behind his hand. This can’t be happening...!

****_Badump._ ** **

          5.)  _To find the area of a rectangle, you multiply length x _______

 _Width._ Width is supposed to be with. His heart felt like it was about to jump out of his chest and scream for joy, but he had to contain himself.

**_Badump._ **

          6.) Do, Re, ______, Fa, Sol, La, Ti, Do!

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes, and the paper was shaking badly from where he held it. He tried to grab onto it tighter to cease his trembling, but only succeeded in crumpling the paper. But he couldn’t stop reading there, for there was one more very important question he had to answer.

**_Badump._**

            _[  ] Yes?               [  ] No._

Finally, Marco looked up from the poster, feeling a thousand emotions at once. Happiness, disbelief, shock, confusion, all of them swirled in his mind like a snowstorm.

He had to clear his throat to make sure he didn’t choke on his tears. “Is this...are you serious?”

A hand lifted to the back of his neck, and Jean scratched at it nervously. He bit his lip, the same lips that were on his moments ago, and smiled. “ _YYYYYes?_ ”

Marco laughed softly at first, but soon it grew and grew until he was cackling, and the tears on his face began to flow. He tried stifling them with his mouth, but he couldn’t contain his elated giggles, feeling relief swarm his entire body.

Jean liked him. _Jean_ like _him!_ This had to be a dream come true, after all this time he’d been so sure Jean didn’t think of him the way Marco did...

Jean’s expression showed his clear confusion, worry, and uncertainty, but a flicker of hope still lit in those gorgeous, _gorgeous_ amber eyes of his. “So...do you wanna, like...do the dating thing?”

There was no way he would ever say no. Marco put down the poster on his desk and ran up to the blond, hugging him as tight as he could. Over and over again, he whispered “Yes, yes, _god,_ yes” until his laughter started up again, and at this point Jean started to laugh along with him. Marco held onto his wide back, and the back of his head, as if he was just a mirage that would disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

Marco felt absolutely elated; _this_ was the surprise that had to wait until later? Now he understood why it had to wait until later, and the brunette was glad he waited.

When he’d said he didn’t think anything could top his night, boy was he glad to be wrong. _This_ was definitely the best thing to happen tonight by far.

 _Jean Kirschtein_ , the breath-taking yet angry scarf-man from the Little Titan Café, whose coffee drinks caused him to get in a fight with the barista, was asking him out.

 _Jean Kirschtein_ , the person who came from a broken, loveless home filled with abuse and things no one should have to go through, had _feelings_ for him.

 _Jean Kirschtein_ , the man who could draw for hours and not have his smile falter once, wanted to be _with_ him.

Pulling away just slightly, Marco’s eyes were drawn to his chapped, pale lips, and he swallowed. “Can I kiss you?”

There was no hesitation in his answer. “Yes please.”

The two of them finally had their first real kiss, and Marco lets out a relieved sigh he didn’t know he was holding in. At first, their kisses were full of nervousness, laughter, and teeth, since neither of them could stop smiling long enough to get a proper one in. They would make fun of each other for it, but neither of them truly minded. Small, sweet kisses were shared over and over until their faces were flushed with shyness, and happiness.

Jean and Marco were still unsure of how to move against each other, but with enough practice they would definitely get it down. Marco could figure out everywhere that made Jean feel good, and use them to the fullest.

It finally dawned on the bespeckled man that they could do this as much as they wanted to. Marco could _kiss Jean_ as often as he wanted to. No longer would he have to hold back his feelings, or long for more intimate touches, because he knew now that they would be reciprocated.

And _damn_ did it feel good to be loved.

As they finally pulled away, Marco’s mind began to wonder and he let out a ‘snrk’ that didn’t go unnoticed by his amber-eyed boyfriend.

“What?” he demanded with a suspicious quirk of the eyebrow.

He had to reel in his quiet laughter before he could answer, but even then his voice stuttered with giggles. “ _The dating thing?”_

Jean’s face grew warm, and he smacked Marco’s chest in retaliation. “Shut up! I was nervous, okay?! And I kind of thought saying ‘Hey, be my boyfriend’ would be way too forward!” he scowled.

“But you literally kissed me _before_ asking me out.” Marco pointed out.

“Th-That’s what Ymir said to do!” Jean cried, and hid his red face in Marco’s shoulder.

The freckled man smirked down at him, tilting his head to the side. “And you thought taking dating advice from _Ymir_ of all people was a good idea?”

“...Now that you say it out loud, it probably was a shitty idea.” He admitted, voice muffled by Marco’s jacket.

Not wanting to fill his boyfriend with any doubt, he gently lifted Jean’s face away from his shoulder, and looked him lovingly in the eyes. “Well, I think she did a pretty good job this time.”

He sealed his comforting words with another kiss, and Marco felt Jean’s hand grasp onto his shirt. Marco felt the overwhelming urge to hold Jean’s hands, and he blindly reached up for them to hold them in his. His dormmate finally took the hint, interlaced their fingers, and squeezed back reassuringly.

They separated, and Jean sighed comfortably against him. Marco slowly leaned his forehead against the blond’s and closed his eyes, not wanting this moment to ever end. _This has to be heaven, there was no other explanation._

But there was something that was nagging at the back of his mind, and inevitably he had to break their peaceful silence. “Was Ymir the only one who helped you?”

Jean jumped, and when Marco opened his eyes again the blond was looking away from him suspiciously. The brunette tilted his body from side to side, trying to force eye contact with him, but he continued to evade him.

“Jean?”

“Marco?” he avoided, and a wobbly smile spread on his face as he bit his tongue.

“Come on, tell me! Who else helped you?” Marco interrogated, and the blond kept his ground for a moment longer before sighing and giving in.

“Uh...would you be mad if I said everyone did?” he winced, waiting for the brunette’s reaction.

He blinked a few times, trying to register what he just said. “ _Everyone_ helped you?”

“W-well yeah, it was obvious to literally all our friends that I liked you, and they seemed absolutely convinced that you liked me back. So, Armin devised this sort of “foolproof plan” thing for me to ask you out.” He confessed, finally looking Marco in the eye.

“How much of this was his idea?” Marco dared to ask, and Jean laughed lightly.

“Pretty much all of it, I guess? He planned the Santa party, and he told Sasha and Connie to sabotage the drawings so we got each other. And he told pretty much our entire friend group to do whatever they could to get us together.” Jean revealed, and Marco was shocked, but only temporarily. It vanished when Marco remembered Armin's notebook full of names and notes, and how oddly prepared for Secret Santa's he was.

Suddenly it all fell into place, and he couldn't believe he didn't see it earlier. But to think that  _Armin_ of all people planned all of this?

Marco said the first thing that came to mind. “Armin is an evil _mastermind._ ”

Jean laughed into his hand, happy and bright. “ _Isn’t he though?_ Who would have thought that small bundle of fluff—”

“Could be so devious?” Marco finished, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment before laughing until their stomachs hurt and their cheeks couldn’t take anymore. He _knew_ he should have been more suspicious when Armin already had the dates planned out ahead of time. The freckled man had to give it to him though; the man knew exactly what he was doing, and exactly what he liked. Dancing, friends, Christmas, blanket forts—

Suddenly, the brunette was reminded of the blanket fort that was waiting to be used behind them, and he pulled away from Jean to turn around and stare at it. Blanket forts were his absolute favorite thing in the world when he was younger, and he wanted nothing more than to be in there with Jean. Marco looked back to the blond with a pleading look, and his dormmate rolled his eyes.

“You don’t have to ask me to go in, you know.”

And Jean didn’t need to say another word. Marco eagerly dragged him inside, bouncing a little from practically jumping on the thing. Looking around, Marco felt extremely safe, being surrounded by blankets and pillows and _Jean._ The blond took control of his laptop, and he scrolled through the many choices available until they settled on watching Christmas movies.

But as the exhausting night they had caught up with them, the two of them inevitably ended up passed out in each other’s arms within the first thirty minutes. Marco didn’t mind at all, and he had a feeling Jean didn't either.

And as he felt his eyelids become too heavy to keep open, he felt an involuntary smile sneak onto his face. The thought of waking up next to Jean in the morning, and the morning after that, without separating before the other woke, made him feel _so_ happy. No longer would he have to hold himself back, fearful of coming on too strong or making things awkward between them. No, Marco would be able to hold his hand as long as he wanted to. And he could kiss his hand, his cheeks, his lips. and anywhere that he could reach. This new found closeness and freedom brought a feeling of relaxation to his heart.

Marco felt Jean tighten his loose hold on him, and the brunette snuggled closer to show him he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. He would always be with him, with the man he loved. As Marco's consciousness finally evaded him, the freckled college student felt their hearts beat in sync with each other.

“Merry Christmas, Jean.” he sighed sleepily, and rested his head against the soft pillows beneath them. The blankets hanging down cut them off from the world around them, and the brunette couldn't be happier.

"Mmm...M'rry Chrismas, M'rco." His boyfriend mumbled before taking in a deep breath, and relaxing against Marco’s body. Slowly, the brunette rubbed small, soothing circles into his back. And once he was sure the blond was fast asleep, he placed a small, innocent kiss to his lips. Gently, he rested his head onto Jean's steadily rising and falling chest.

Letting another smile slip by, he briefly thought back to all those months ago when he'd been terrified of the man standing in his doorway, a sharp glare on his face and rock music blaring behind him. He was _so sure_ that the blond hated him, resented the world, and would just be "that punk asshole who I have to share a room with" and nothing more.

He'd never been so glad to be wrong before.

 

And Marco couldn't be happier with who his dormmate, his best friend, his  _boyfriend_  really turned out to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks! And I swear I didn't plan on that dance scene with Marco, it just HAPPENED  
> I have a huge weakness for guys with amazing hips okay, I'm sorry  
> I hope it didn't seem too out of place.  
> But yay! They finally got together! After months and months and months, those two idiots finally confessed to each other  
> I also have a [tumblr](http://www.kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) so check me out!  
> Thank you so much for reading! Leave me some Kudos and a comment, and I'll see you in the epilogue!


	15. Epilogue: I Want to Make You Feel Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four months into their relationship, and it's Jean's birthday!  
> I wonder what Marco will do for his present, hmm?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are! The final chapter of Dormmates!  
> I'm gonna be real here and admit that I didn't write anything for the past month; I wrote this chapter in 2 fucking days. I honestly can't believe I got this done before the 25th  
> I will always be procrastination's bitch, but sometimes I can make it work!  
> And aren't epilogues normally shorter than normal? Whoopsies
> 
> Anyways, enjoy this final epilogue!!! HIGHLY NSFW ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Come on, Marco. Tell me! You have to because—”

“Nuh uh, it’s a surprise.”

“But...”

“Don’t make me turn this car around, Jean.” He threatened, pulling the ultimate Mom move.

“...You dick.” He pouted, turning to face the window and crossing his arms.

Marco scoffed at his small tantrum, but continued to drive nevertheless. The bright green trees passed them in a blur, and for a moment he was astonished at how much time had passed since that magical Winter night with Jean. With the new season came the light pink budding of flowers, healthy green grass sprouting from the crevices of sidewalks, and sheets upon sheets of rain.

It also bought a feeling of a fresh new start, whether it be from a new project, from new seeds of friendship being sewn, or new ideas being birthed into this world.

But most important of all, there was a certain someone's birthday that happened in the midst of Spring. Jean was finally going to be turning 19, and Marco wanted to do something special for him, even if the blond insisted he didn’t have to.

Marco had been on cloud nine the day after the blonds’ elaborate and thoughtful confession, and it seemed like everybody in the school knew why. His close friends had already known because they sort of got them together, and they were extremely accepting of their relationship. They were  _happy_ for them, and that made him happier than they could ever know.

Even his teachers had somehow found out about his new significant other. When he walked into Hanji's classroom that day, she gave him a genuine smile, and for once the action didn’t send shivers down his spine. She told him to 'treat this mysterious boy right', and he reassured her that he planned on doing just that.

Levi had just told them both that as long as they weren’t trying to eat each other’s faces off while he was teaching he ‘couldn’t give two shits’.

"Is it McDonalds?" Jean guessed, his eyes locked on one that they drove past.

Marco sighed, but kept his eyes on the road. "No, Jean. Now stop asking already, I'm _not_ going to tell you."

These first few months have been going very smoothly for the happy couple. Sure, sometime’s they’ll argue, like over who lost to whom when playing Super Smash Bro’s, followed by wild accusations of cheating to get that final smash ball. But the things they bickered about were normal in a relationship, and never anything major that could end with someone getting hurt.

Ever since that fight back in October, the two of them had learned to be more open to prevent things like that from ever happening again.

"Is it somewhere we've been before?"

"...Fine. This is going to be your _one_ _and_   _only_ hint. Yes, we've been there before." He caved. But the blond was still not satisfied, facing the window with his arms folded.

In some ways, their relationship continued to stay the same. They still laughed loudly together, they still got greasy, heart attacking-ly delicious Chinese food, and they still participated in game nights with Connie and Sasha.

But that’s not to say things haven’t changed between the ashen blond and the freckled brunette. Without invisible barriers to keep them in check, the two of them could always be found connected in one way or another. They would be holding hands, or have one arm wrapped around the other, or even just having the sides of their legs touching was calming enough.

Marco reached over and pulled Jean’s angry hand away from his arm, and laced their fingers. The blond grumbled angrily, but he didn’t fight it. Out of the corner of his eye, the brunette could spot the small smile that made its way to his face, and he knew he had won.

When Marco found out just how much Jean craved physical contact, he made sure to touch him whenever he could. He wasn’t about to start complaining, since he loved it as much as the blond did. If Jean wanted to cuddle when they were watching a movie or silently ask for a quick kiss before leaving the dorms, who was he to argue? He was more than willing to kiss his boyfriend if he would let him.

Kisses, specifically Jean's, were something that Marco soon found to be so terribly addicting. There seemed to be so many silent words behind them, and it was as if Jean could get across what he couldn’t speak through a gentle touch of his lips. Nervousness, boldness, excitement, fear; all of it could be expressed through Jean’s kisses whether he knew it or not.

He tasted so incredibly sweet, so calming, so much like _home_ that he tried to sneak one in whenever he could. More often than not the blonds’ lips would be chapped from biting them so much (a habit he picked up from the brunette), but it was an important characteristic that made them unique.

The transition between calling Jean his best friend to his boyfriend wasn't a difficult one; he’d been saying it often enough in his dreams after all. And though it had already been a few months since Jean confessed to him, he still found it hard to believe it was real. After all, an amazing guy like him going after someone like the freckled man seemed to be a dream come true.

But Jean often told him he thought the same thing about Marco; that a lot of the time _he_ felt like the insecure one who was lucky to be with him. He felt his face heat up especially during these moments, though he couldn’t find it in himself to accept it quite yet. They agreed to disagree for now, though Jean didn't look very happy about it.

“...Can you tell me now?” Jean tried again.

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“No.” he stated, and he laughed when Jean leaned over to smack his chest without separating their hands.

Marco had made reservations at a certain restaurant, but refused to tell Jean which one it was the entire car ride there. He’d been trying to guess it for a while, but now that he knew Marco was serious about not revealing the location, Jean finally stopped his game of Twenty Questions.

Marco had a whole special evening planned, just the two of them, and the freckled man was going to make sure it went perfectly.

Once they pulled into a nearby parking space, Jean looked up at that familiar brick building and raised his eyebrow. “You sure you didn’t pick this place just because _you_ wanted to go here?”

Marco nudged his arm and gave him a scowl. “Olive Garden is a _perfectly_ acceptable place to go for someone’s birthday! And their breadsticks are amazing, so hush.”

The blond shook his head and moved to step out of Marco’s car, but the brunette beat him to the punch. He hopped out of the driver's seat and raced around to the other side just so he could open Jean’s car door for him. He watched his boyfriend blink shyly at the kind gesture.

Jean slowly stepped out, and Marco closed it for him before locking it. They strode to the front doors being held open by employees, and Marco thanked them with a nod of his head in their direction.

Marco walked up to the woman behind the podium. "I have a reservation under Bodt for 2 at 6:30?" he informed her.

She looked for his name in the book of reservations, and when she spotted it she looked up and smiled, grabbing two menus. "Right this way."

Immediately they were escorted to a table that was far enough away from the rowdy families to give them some privacy. She removed the reservation card and left them right away, black heels muted against the green carpet.

Before Jean could sit himself down, the brunette pulled out his chair for him, and the blond spluttered for a moment as his cheeks grew red. Marco gave him a smile he knew he couldn’t refuse, and as his boyfriend sat down he pushed him in gently.

Sitting across from him, he looked around at where the waitress had placed them. The muted floral cushioned chairs beneath them were moderately comfortable, and the lighting was nice enough. They were seated next to a window, and Marco could see the bright lights from stores illuminate the outside. The sun was finally starting to set, beautiful oranges and purples and pinks streaking across the sky. Not a cloud was in sight, so the beams of light could be seen from all over.

The last time they were here, the two of them had been recovering from a terrible fight, both of them acting extremely tense and awkward. But they also ended up mending one of the best relationships in their lives here, and Marco dreads to think about what would have happened had they not forgiven each other. They had ended up laughing so hard at the most ridiculous things, that even the loud families around them gave them judgmental stares. And if he remembered correctly, their waitress had been...

“Hi, welcome to Olive Garden!” a chipper woman greeted, bounding up to their table and giving them an award winning smile. She placed a steaming, warm basket of bread sticks on their table and look up at the two of them. “My name is Carla, and...” she began, but trailed off.

Marco and Jean gave her a look of confusion as her face contorted momentarily, but then she lit up and the smile was back on her face. “Oh, I remember you two! You guys were here a couple months ago, right?”

Jean blinked owlishly. “You remember us?”

“Well of course I do! How could I forget the cutest couple I’d seen in ages?” Carla complimented, and the two of them laughed nervously. Marco made to correct her, but she continued to talk over him. “That and you guys were pretty obnoxiously loud.”

Marco rubbed the back of his neck shyly. “Guilty as charged.”

The waitress pulled out a notepad from her apron and a pen from her blouse, clicking it once. “Well, welcome back to Olive Garden! Can I start you guys off with something to drink?”

The two of them ordered their usual drinks, Coca Cola, and she flashed them another practiced smile before hopping off to a different table.

They shrugged before turning to the sinfully delicious bread sticks in front of them, and began to dig in, moaning around the warm lumps of bread in their mouths. No one was going to be judged for the sounds they made here; it was just the two of them and they understood how good the food was.

Once they swallowed down their bread, their drinks had arrived, and Carla quickly took their orders before leaving them once again.

Jean and Marco looked to the bread before them, and the latter spoke up first. “Maybe we should lay off the ‘sticks if we actually want to have room for our food.”

The blond belched quietly and nodded in agreement. “True.”

“... _And_ if we want to have room for your dessert.” Marco finished.

Jean straightened up in his seat and looked at his boyfriend pleadingly. “W-What? Marco—”

“I also got you a present. Well, kind of.” He added.

The blond looked like he was about to cry. He held his hands up defensively. “ _Please,_ you really don’t have to—”

“But I _want_ to.” The bespeckled man interrupted, and Jean didn’t look convinced in the slightest. He was fiddling with his fingers, and he had switched from looking at Marco to looking at the table in front of him.

This wouldn’t do at all. Marco leaned forward and grabbed Jean’s long, thin hands in his and held them until he looked back up at him. He comfortingly brushed a thumb along the top of his knuckles, and Marco watched the ashen blond practically melt into the motion.

“Jean...you don’t ever have to worry about things like that. Things like me holding the chair open for you, or holding open the door for you, or even treating you to things like dessert. You deserve all of it and more, and I’ll tell you this every time you get nervous or scared or feel unsure;

“I want you, Jean. I really, _really_ do, more than you know. I want to do all kinds of things with you, like I want to spend time with you, and hold you, and make you feel happy. I’ll give you a million kisses, a million things, a million smiles if it means I can see just one of yours.”

Marco took a steady breath before continuing. “You are worth so much more than what I have to offer, but you’re willing to accept what little I have to offer. You’re willing to accept _me,_ regardless of anything bad that comes with the package.

“And I want you to know that I accept you too. All of the good, all of the bad, and all of the in-between. I want to know every part of you, and I feel like I already do. I...”

_I love you._

Marco smiled so, _so_ warmly, and squeezed his significant other’s hands once, hoping he could convey the words he couldn’t speak, with his hands. The blond tried to keep his tears at bay, and they hovered just above his waterline, ready to break free at any moment.

“So...I’m going to treat you to dessert, and I’m going to give you your present when we get home, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” He finalized.

Jean tried to blink them back, but it was no use. A few escaped from their poorly maintained cage, and before he could try to wipe them away the freckled student was already there, brushing them away and cupping his face lovingly. The blond leaned into the gesture, holding onto it comfortingly.

“Happy birthday, Jean.”

Marco smiled again and leaned over the table, kissing his boyfriend innocently and softly, feeling the quiver of his lips against his own. He pressed a little more firmly to assure him that it was okay to cry, and that he was always going to be right there with him.

As soon as they pulled away, they heard the familiar sound of pounding feet on soft carpet, and turned to find their waitress with a tray full of pasta and a knowing grin on her face.

“Alright, one order of Chicken Fettuccine and one Chicken & Shrimp Carbonara for the lovely couple.” Carla beamed, placing their dishes in front of them. “Would any of you like some pepper?”

Both of them grew extremely embarrassed at her comment, but didn’t try to deny it. Marco asked for some on his Alfredo, and soon she whisked away and went to serve different people.

“She really likes us, huh?” Marco commented, twirling his pasta with his fork.

“Better than her hating us.” Jean added, shoving a forkful of seafood into his mouth.

The brunette nodded in agreement before digging in to his own meal, and _god_ he wished he could come to Olive Garden more often. The sauce melted on his tongue, the pasta had just the right amount of chewiness, and the portions were huge. Which was completely okay with Marco; they made _fantastic_ left-over’s.

Maybe the two of them should have stopped eating the bread sticks earlier, because they barely got through half of their dish before their forks came to an abrupt halt. When Carla noticed them slowing down, she rushed off somewhere before coming back with a small brownie with a candle in it. Lighting it, she and Marco sang to the birthday boy, and a few strangers applauded with them at the end.

The brownie looked adorable and delectable, and since Jean was too full to eat it all by himself he shoved a fork at his boyfriend and made him dig in too.

Once the delicious free brownie had been miraculously devoured, she finally brought them the check. Jean tried to grab it and pay for his own meal, but Marco was quicker, taking it and sliding in his debit card before handing it back to the waitress.

Jean glared at him, but the brunette stuck out his tongue, unfazed. “It’s pay back for November.”

The blond looked confused for a moment, but when he remembered what he was referring to he just sighed and shook his head. “Alright, fine.”

Jean and Marco thanked the waitress a bunch of times, and she looked kind of sad to see them go. The two of them made their way out of the restaurant and into the warm safety of their car. Though nights had certainly grown warmer since winter, they were still cool enough to make Marco shiver if he wasn’t too careful.

The drive back was spent in comfortable silence. Jean let out a content sigh every now and then, and went on about how amazing the food was. Street lights passed by in streaks of bright color, and the red headlights in front of him were a little blinding, though.

But overall, the night looked beautiful. Unlike last time, the sky wasn’t clouded over with a sheet of grey. Rather, the stars had actually come out to play for once, and the moon shone high in the sky, brighter than most nights. Jean held onto the left-over’s in one hand, and held Marco’s with the other like he never wanted to let go.

_I love him._

Once they finally arrived at their parking lot, Marco turned off the ignition, but made no move to get out of the car. The two of them simply sat in silence, no background noise to distract them from anything.

Finally, it was Jean who spoke up first. “So...are we going inside?”

Marco looked up for a moment, humming. “Mmm...no, not quite yet.”

The blond looked over at him, eyebrows scrunched in confusion. “Well why not?”

Instead of answering, the brunette unbuckled his seatbelt and gave a heart-stopping smirk. Crawling over and swinging one leg over Jean’s legs, he sat himself down on his lap. Leaning in close to Jean's ear, Marco paused for a moment before answering in a voice that came out far huskier than he’d intended.

“ _Because I need to give you your birthday present_.”

His boyfriend shuddered slightly underneath him, and he was pleased to get such a nice reaction from him. Marco lightly scraped his teeth against his earlobe before pressing warm, wet kisses to his sharp jaw line, smirking all the while. Jean let out a long pleased sigh at the feeling, and he felt his hands snake up to hold him.

Not too long ago, the brunette had learned that his boyfriend had a huge thing for hickies and markings. And he intended to use that knowledge to his full advantage today.

Marco’s mouth trailed from his jaw down to his neck, making sure to leave marks on that beautiful pale throat of his. He nipped down on the freshly made mark before licking it softly, and moved onto the next patch of skin that demanded to be claimed. Every time he sucked a little too hard, the blond would squeak, but it was always followed by a quiet groan.

The brunette’s hands wandered to his t-shirt, hands grabbing at the thin material as he made his way down, down, down to his collar bone. When Marco had kissed and scraped his teeth against his clavicle, the blond let out a surprised groan and rolled his hips up into Marco’s.

Releasing a small noise of his own, he felt a beautiful jolt all the way down to his dick, and smiled at this new-found sweet spot. He continued to kiss it and mark it, leaving a trail of saliva wherever he went, and Jean continued to let out those gorgeous choked sounds of his, as if he was trying not to let on how turned on he was. But as he grinded down into Jean’s crotch, Marco could tell how he was truly feeling.

Their breathing became heavier, and soon Jean couldn’t take it anymore and pulled him up for a desperate kiss, pressing his lips hard against the brunette’s full ones. Over and over, their kisses became sloppier and sloppier until they were moaning into each other’s mouths, Jean’s hands grabbing Marco’s ass and pulling him closer and closer until they were chest to chest.

_It feels so good, so good, so fucking **good**..._

_But..._

Marco pulled away with a wet kiss, and Jean tried to lean back for more. But Marco pressed his hands to the blonds’ chest, and that was when the blond slowly opened his eyes.

And the sight took his breath away.

His amber eyes were practically covered by his pupils that were blown with lust, and his lids were heavily draped over his eyes. His face was completely red, but this time it was spread all around in a way that made his knees weak. And his hair...His messy, ashen blond hair had been made even messier by Marco's hands running through it. Those thin chapped lips of his had grown swollen and pink from kissing, and they remained slightly parted as he attempted to catch his breath. The red marks Marco had left on his neck sent a familiar jolt to his dick, and he had to hold back a whine at how fucking _gorgeous_ his boyfriend was.

Although he would have loved staring at him for another twenty years, he had a reason for pulling away from him. “As much as I would love to cum in my pants in the passenger seat of my car, maybe we should take this inside...?” He enticed, giving him a small peck on the lips.

Jean groaned where he sat, his expression changing into something more longing. “But _Marco,_ you’re being so good to me, and I don’t want to get up...and you _feel so damn good.”_ The blond groaned with a slow, torturous roll of his hips.

Marco’s breath hitched, and he let out a shaky breath at how  _amazing_ Jean grinding against him felt. It was going to drive him over the edge one day if he wasn't careful. And that pleading expression on his face made it even harder to say no.

But he knew they had to if they wanted to get to what he had planned.

The brunette gave him a languid open mouthed kiss, biting Jean’s lip and dragging his teeth across it, dragging out a soft moan from his partner in return.

“ _I can make you feel even better.”_ He whispered, his deep voice making his boyfriend shudder once more.

When he pulled away again Jean looked like he was about to speak up again. But instead of listening to what he had to say, the freckled man reached for the handle of his car door and opened it. Cold spring air flooded into the car, driving out all the heat they had created. He hadn’t realized how warm it had gotten inside until that heat was stripped away from them, the windows becoming less fogged over by the second.

On unsteady legs, the brunette carefully stepped out of his car and away from a hot and bothered Jean. The flustered blond gaped at him longingly, still where the freckled man had left him, and still strapped into his seat.

Marco looked at him over his shoulder. “Well? Are you coming?”

Those words snapped him out of whatever hypnotic trance he was in, and soon enough Jean was fumbling with the seat belt and stumbling out of the car. " _Fuck,_ I hope so." he grumbled, closing his car door and abandoning their left overs for more pressing matters.

Jean and Marco stumbled through the double doors, and thankfully the lady at the front desk was too immersed in her book to look up at who had entered. They hurriedly walked to their dorm, and not for the first time, he was so damn grateful that their room wasn't far from the entrance. Jean fumbled with the dorm key for a while, but after what seemed like forever he unlocked it and couldn’t open the door fast enough.

Slamming it shut without locking it again, there was hardly any time between the door closing and their lips meeting again in a passionate embrace. Their tongues were pressing against each other and moans slipped out into the room. It was hard to tell what came from whom anymore, but neither of them cared because it all felt _so damn good._

_“Sh-Shit. I want...”_

Jean gripped at the base of Marco’s shirt, and the freckled man quickly sent their tops flying. They stumbled backwards until Marco's back bumped into the pole of their beds. He pulled Jean onto the bottom bunk of the bed and pinned him underneath him.

Immediately, he began devouring every piece of skin that was available to him. To him, his boyfriend was as delicious and tempting as a homemade cake, and Jean was a recipe that he so desperately longed to taste. He kissed his flushed shoulders, the area between his chest, and slowly licked his way to Jean’s right nipple while rolling his left between his thumb and fore finger. The blonds’ breath hitched, and his breathing continued to stutter as the brunette continued to play with and suck at his sensitive nipples.

“O-oh my _god..._ ” he whined, squirming underneath Marco’s unrelenting mouth.

_God, Jean made the most beautiful noises..._

Popping off of the nipple, Marco blew teasingly on it and Jean hissed at the sharp contrast in temperature. Marco gave a low chuckle before parting entirely and moving his way down Jean’s flushed, marked body.

Soft, teasing kisses were pressed down his stomach, and when he made his way all the way down he nipped at Jean’s prominent hip bones. He felt the blond tense up underneath him and felt him grip one of his hands into the sheets below them.

Marco lifted his hands to Jean’s sides and smiled before slowly raking them down, leaving slight red marks all the way down his ribs, and Jean couldn’t hold back a loud moan as his nails slowly made their way down to his hips. He rubbed the marks in circles afterwards, making his way further and further south.

One of Marco’s freckled hands slipped downward to teasingly palm at the prominent bulge of Jean's pants. He could feel his dick harden beneath his hand as he massaged it tauntingly slow.

“Fff... _fuck,_ Marco, oh god, please...” Jean begged. But the bespeckled man wasn’t about to give in quite yet. Marco had to hold onto his hip with his other hand to keep him from grinding into it, and he could see that it was driving him _crazy_.

“Hmm? Please what, Jean?” he asked innocently, giving his member a tight squeeze through his constricting jeans.

Jean moaned loudly, and one hand shot up to keep any further embarrassing sounds from escaping. But the sound of his restrained and muffled noises only served to spur Marco on further.

“What do you need? I won’t know unless you tell me _exactly_ what it is you want. _”_ Marco teased, slipping a hand into his pants and just barely brushing the base of his dick. Only a thin barrier of cloth stood between Jean and sweet, sweet relief. All he had to do was say what he wanted.

More delicious moans spilled from behind his trembling fingers, and after a few more torturous minutes of relentless teasing, he removed his hand from his face. Jean looked him in the eyes, his whisky orbs glazed over with lust and hindering his concentration.

“I— _ah! I want_ y-you to...” he began, but stopped in favor of letting out a small whine at the immense pleasure he was feeling.

At last, Marco decided to give him a little mercy and cease his movements so he could get more than three words out. The blond tried to steady his labored breathing, but it was hopeless. The freckled man watched him expectantly, making sure the blond looked at him the entire time he spoke.

“...Fuck me, M-Marco. Please, please, _please_ f-fuck me already. Until all I can remember is, y-your name, and all I can taste and, and smell and _feel_ is you...” He maganed to stutter. And those words sent a bolt of electricity straight to his dick. He could have sworn he felt it twitch in his pants that suddenly seemed too tight. To hear and see Jean become so undone, so pleading, so full of need because of him...

“ _God,_ the things you do to me...” Marco groaned, his eyes growing predatory and overcome with desire. Unbuttoning Jean’s pants, he pulled them down along with his underwear in one swift motion.

Jean let out a relieved sigh at finally having his dick freed from the constraints of his jeans. At first he struggled to get them off all the way, but after a little wriggling he was finally rid of the stiff clothing.

Right away, Marco made to press his mouth to Jean’s quivering thighs, but the blond pushed him away lightly. His breath hot and only a few inches away from his member, the freckled brunette looked up at him with large eyes and a quirk of one brow.

“I...I want to make you feel good too.” Jean requested.

Marco simply shook his head slowly. “No, today is your birthday. You shouldn’t have to do anything.”

Jean sat up and leaned in close to his boyfriend, his eyes full of determination. “But I _want_ to.”

The brunette hesitated for a moment, and the blond misinterpreted it, backing away slightly. “If you don’t want me to, that’s fine. I just, thought that I could do something to make you feel as nice as you make me feel.” He murmured.

Marco pulled him closer again, their bare chests flushed against each other. He let his wolfish grin melt into something a little more Marco-like, and squeezed his forearms.

“Okay.”

Jean smiled as his permission was granted, and wasted no time in attacking his beautifully swollen lips. Quickly, he kissed a trail down from his neck to his chest to his navel, and Marco’s breathing became labored. Jean stopped at the button of his pants, hands hovering over the bulge and looking up at Marco, asking silently for permission once more.

The brunette nodded quickly, and Jean unbuttoned his jeans before taking the zipper in his teeth and trying to pull it down. It got stuck about halfway through, and eventually the blond gave up and used his hands. A giggle spilled from the brunette, and Jean shot him a glare before yanking down his pants to his thighs.

Marco’s dick sprung free from his jeans, and the brunette hadn’t noticed just how hard he was until now, simply from wringing pleasure out of Jean. The blond held his member in one hand and stared at it, running his tongue over his lips hungrily. The action caused Marco’s dick to twitch in his hand, and his boyfriend let out a loose chuckle.

Licking a long stripe from base to head, the brunette let out a shuddering sigh, and looked down to watch Jean press small kisses on him. Jean’s eyelashes were casting long shadows on his cheeks, and the sight of slivers of amber peeking through them made his breath hitch.

Making his way to the top again, Jean pressed a sloppy kiss to the tip of his dick, pre-cum smearing on his lips, and Marco had to bite his lip to control his body. But when his boyfriend looked up at him and those soft, wet lips slid their way down his shaft, he couldn’t hold back any further. He let his head relax against the pillow beneath him, and he struggled to keep his hips from thrusting into his warm mouth.

Jean’s tongue confidently danced over his dick, flicking and swirling over his flushed head weeping with pre-cum. It drew several keens from the freckled man at how fucking _amazing_ it felt, at how _amazing_ Jean was. Soon his significant other began bobbing his head, pumping what he couldn’t get to, and Marco let out a long, satisfied groan.

“ _Fuuuuck,_ Jean, _Jean..._ ” he panted, a hand sliding through his soft, ashen brown locks.

The blond moaned while his mouth was still on him, and the vibrations made him jolt as if he were being shot with electricity. It all felt too damn incredible, and Marco felt himself edging closer and closer to release.

But this wasn’t how he wanted it to happen. No, he still had one more part to his present.

Tugging on Jean’s hair to catch his attention, Marco managed to choke out his request. “J-Jean, if you don’t stop, then I’m gonna— _aah, Jean,_ p-please take your mouth off— _shit._ ”

After bobbing his head a few more times, Jean slowed down and pulled off of Marco’s dick with a distinct _pop._ A part of him was relieved that he could keep going, but a more primal part of him craved the warmth of his mouth on him once again.

Marco sat up, his abundant freckles practically covered by his flushed face, and kiss his boyfriend softly, tasting himself on Jean’s tongue. It was kind of weird to have his own flavor on his tongue, but underneath it all he could still taste _his_ Jean.

Jean pulled away first, looking around for a little before turning his hazy gaze back to Marco. “Uh, do you have...?”

He blinked for a second, and suddenly he remembered that yes, condoms and lube were essential if they were going to have sex. Thankfully, his friends had bought him some to use for today, which was kind of weird but beggars can’t be choosers. He rolled off of the bed and hopped over to his desk, not bothering to fix his pants. He leaned down and pulling out his bottom drawer. Jean whistled at the sight, but he just shook his head and snorted.

Soon enough he found the paper bag filled with all sorts of lubes and condoms. They’d gotten him way too much, and the flavors were all ridiculous; bacon, strawberry, chocolate, banana, even the glow-in-the-dark condoms he’d gotten from Eren were in rolls at the bottom of the bag. But thankfully, Annie had gotten them non-flavored ones that would work just fine for today. Pulling them out, he placed the bag back in its rightful place when he was done.

Striding back over, he placed the goods onto the bed and resumed kissing his alluring boyfriend. Their dicks accidentally brushed once, and the both of them let out satisfied hitches of breath.

But they couldn’t do this for long, lest they risk cumming all over each other without getting to the best part. Pulling away once again, Marco reached for the lube and condom when suddenly he remembered something.

“Um...Jean?”

“Hnn?” he hummed, his eyes fluttering open.

“Have we ever discussed who was going to, uh.” He hesitated, but Jean seemed to understand what he was getting at.

“Shit.” Jean realized, and they looked at each other for a moment, unsure of what to do.

The two of them had done sexual things with each other, like kissing and hand jobs and dry humping, but Jean and Marco had yet to go as far as they were about to. And since it had never escalated this far before, the two of them thought they never needed to talk about it.

_What a big mistake that was...!_

At last, it was the blond who spoke up first. “I mean...I don’t mind bottoming today.”

Marco perked up at his decision, trying not to let his excitement get the better of him. “Y-Yeah?”

“Mhm, and we could always like...switch off on other days, right?” he suggested, and Marco nodded in agreement.

The brunette was glad they got this out of the way, and if he was being honest he really wanted to top for their first time. All Marco wanted to do was make Jean feel good, and he knew he could do that if the blond would let him try.

Smiling, the freckled man gave him another briefly sweet kiss before reaching for the lube hidden beneath his bed sheets. Popping open the cap, he let the slippery substance spread onto his fingers. It was pretty cold, so he tried warming it up with his fingers first. After a while, Jean started to become impatient, letting out groans and huffs every now and then that only made him want to go slower.

Marco lowered himself until he was resting his head on Jean's thigh, and he teased Jean’s entrance by spreading it in small, gentle circles. He would apply a small amount of pressure just to get him riled up, and when it seemed like he was finally about to enter he would pull back and resume his earlier motions.

“ _Marco,_ hurry up!” he growled, and the brunette huffed out a laugh through his nose. He continued to tease him for a little while longer. “I swear to fucking— _fffffuck.”_

The relentless freckled man slipped in his finger in the middle of his sentence, and Marco could feel him clenching around his digit. Slowly, he inserted it little by little until he reached his bottom knuckle.

But Jean was far too tense to start moving. His shoulders were taut, his grip was tight on the sheets, and his face was contorted into a strange expression.

Looking up at him, the brunette’s thick eyebrows furrowed and he gave a slight smirk. “You’ll need to relax if you want this to feel good, you know.”

Jean rolled his eyes, though his muscles didn’t become any less strained. “Sh-Shut up, I’m trying, okay? It just...it feels weird.”

Marco understood what he meant. The first time he fingered himself he had no idea how he could ever grow to like it. But once he'd found that amazing spot, all awkwardness and alien feelings were washed away by pure pleasure. All Marco had to do was find that spot for Jean to make him feel really,  _really_ good.

Distracting him by pressing soft kisses to the insides of his thighs, Marco pulled out his finger and carefully began moving in and out, trying to get Jean used to the feeling of having something inside of him.

Sucking on the soft, sensitive skin of his inner thighs, Marco continued to nip and lick everywhere he could. He pressed a few sloppy kiss to the side of his dick, and the pleasured hiss he received made Marco feel extremely pleased with himself.

His distractions seemed to be doing the trick, because Jean felt a lot more relaxed around his finger. Marco took this as a sign to add a second one, and he carefully began twisting and scissoring and doing all he could to thoroughly stretch him.

To his relief, the blond was a lot less hesitant this time around. Gone was the uncomfortable confused look on his face and replacing it was a breath-taking pleasure-filled one. His hands now grabbed the sheets in ecstasy instead of foreignness, and his hair was all over the place, spread across the pillow beneath his head.

For the umpteenth time that night, Marco is awestruck by how so  _beautiful_ Jean is.

Feeling that it was about time to go further, Marco turned his palm face up and curled his fingers, and began to search for the spot he knew would make Jean see stars—

“A-Ah! Oh my go—ooh _fuck!_ _M-Marco!”_ He cried out, back arching and eyes shooting wide open.

_Found it._

Marco smirked wolfishly and bit at Jean’s thigh while continuing to massage his prostate. Jean seemed torn between squirming away from him and wanting to grind down into it as hard as he could, and the small squeaks he let out every now and then were like music to his ears. Every time Jean said his name on a soft breathy moan, Marco wanted to kiss him over and over and swallow those sinfully beautiful sounds. He couldn’t reach from down here, so he had to make do with pressing kisses to his stomach.

It took practically no time at all for his boyfriend to get used to the third finger, and soon enough he was pulling them out of Jean’s ass. He let out a whimper at the loss, but Marco gave him a look that assured him he wouldn’t be empty for long. Wiping the excess lube on the sheets, he sincerely hoped that Jean wouldn’t mind all the stuff that would get on his bed.

Double checking to make sure the condoms weren’t expired, he tore one off from the roll and pulled it from its plastic wrapping. Rolling it on smoothly and giving himself a few pumps, he grabbed the bottle of lube and applied some more over the top. Marco wanted to make sure this was as painless and had as little friction as possible.

Marco wiped off the excess lube onto Jean's bed again, and then hovered over the blond with one arm while positioning himself with the other. Once he was lined up, he looked up into Jean’s eyes.

“...Can I?” he requested.

Jean smiled and wrapped his arms around Marco’s neck. “Please do.”

The freckled man smiled back and leaned down to kiss him passionately. And while he was distracted, Marco began to slowly and cautiously push into Jean’s entrance. His boyfriend nervously bit Marco’s bottom lip, and he paused his movements to ease his anxieties by pressing kisses to his cheeks, his eyes, his forehead, and then his lips.

It seemed to work, because the tight clenching around his dick had lessened somewhat. Marco took this as his okay to start moving again, so he began to move his hips forward again. Slowly, inch by inch, the brunette pushed his way into Jean as gently as he could. And soon enough, they were connected at the base.

Giving him a moment to breathe and adjust, Marco felt Jean’s hands clench and unclench behind his neck, and could feel him trying to relax. He wasn’t about to rush him; this was a lot different and a lot bigger than fingers after all. So the brunette was ready to give him at much time as he needed.

After a few minutes, Jean tested the waters by grinding his hips, and it was all Marco could do to keep himself from biting Jean’s lip again.

_God, he feels so fucking amazing._

Jean let out one last deep breath before looking into Marco’s chocolate brown eyes. He nodded once, and there was no hesitation in those golden eyes. Only eagerness, happiness, and _love_  that had Marco's heart skipping a beat.

Marco started out small with shallow thrusts, not wanting to hurt him in any way. But soon enough Jean became a bit bolder and began rolling his hips in time with his thrusts, and it just about made him choke with how incredible it felt. Marco felt comfortable enough to speed up his pace and thrust a bit deeper every time, and soon enough the two of them had built up their own pace, filled with slick movements, uncontrolled moans, and more kisses than either of them could count.

Jean didn’t need to tell him what he needed with words. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could speak what with all the whines and whimpers that were spilling out of him. Marco could tell what he needed simply through his fingertips. They told him when he wanted more, when he wanted him to kiss him, when he needed it faster, harder, Marco, _Marco—_

“M-Marco!” Jean cried out, his back arching and his arms clinging tightly to his neck. His thighs were clamped around his torso, and Jean’s voice grew higher and higher by the second. Marco knew he was close, and he could say the same for himself.

“ _Jeeeean...I—”_ he choked, and all he could see was his beautiful boyfriend in front of him. All he could breathe, smell, taste, and touch, was Jean. It was absolute bliss, it was happiness, and he never wanted to be away from him, or from this moment. Marco wanted to hold him like this, and keep him safe, and make him feel like royalty. Jean deserved it all, and Marco wanted to be the one to give it to him for years to come.

“Fuck, Jean...I love y-you.” Marco admitted, and he smiled at his significant other while his thrusts grew more erratic. “I love you, I love you so, so, _so_ much.”

Tears formed at the corners of Jean’s eyes, and he pulled the brunette in close so he wouldn’t have to see. “I love you too, Marco. God I love you—” he requited, but was interrupted by a loud keen escaping him as his boyfriend hit that _amazing_ spot.

Marco and Jean were so close, so _unbearably close_ to release, and yet they kept teetering on the edge. The brunette fumbled for Jean’s hand, and they interlaced fingers as Marco’s thrusting became wild and even more uneven. The two of them chanted “I love you”s over and over as if it would bring them closer to release.

Jean muffled their words with his mouth, kissing him desperately in a way that conveyed how badly he needed to cum, and how much he wanted it. Marco returned it full force, and with a particularly hard thrust into Jean’s prostate the ashen blond moaned into his mouth and came _hard._ It went all over his stomach, and some even got on his flushed and heaving chest.

Jean bit down on his lip as he hit the high of his orgasm, and it was that nibble combined with Jean clenching and pulsing around him that pushed him over the edge, and he was overcome with pleasure. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over him, and he kissed Jean over and over until he came down from his high.

Finally, the two of them broke the kiss, and Marco attempted to catch his breath. Peeling off the condom, he tied it up and wobbly walked over to the nearest trash can. He stumbled his way over to Jean, his arms shaking and exhausted from keeping himself up for so long. So, Marco rolled over on top of his boyfriend, squishing him before ending up on the other side of him. Jean let out a squawk of protest and smacked his boyfriend on his bare chest, but the brunette didn’t care.

Sexual things were always very exhausting to Marco, but seeing Jean’s blissful post-orgasm face was always worth the work. There were no dark creases in his brow, and no bitter frown rested on his lips. In fact, Marco would have thought the blond had fallen asleep if he hadn’t let out a soft, breathless laugh just then.

Marco turned his head to face Jean while slowly blinking. “What are you laughing at...?”

His question elicited another relaxed laugh from his boyfriend, and this time he propped himself up on his shaky arms that screamed for a break. “What? What did I do?”

Jean sighed contently, and then turned so he was facing Marco as well. A loose smile was on his lips, and it made the brunette’s heart speed up just a little. “So, you know how you have freckles on your butt?”

Well, this question certainly caught him off guard. His eyes widened comically, and Marco twisted to try and see if there really were spots on his ass. Turns out he had quite a few, though he had no idea when those got there.

Normally he would be red with embarrassment at the thought of Jean having looked at his ass thoroughly enough to notice those freckles, but by now they had seen every bit of each other. There wasn’t any shame left in him, and he was too tired to try and act the part anyway.

“Huh. Well what do you know? But...what does that have to do with anything?” he questioned, still not seeing the point to his strange observation.

Jean snickered once, and a look of mischief was in his eyes. “I figured out a name for them.”

_...What._

“You... _named_ my butt freckles?

“Well, yeah! I mean, I didn’t give them individual names like Isabel or Farlan or anything oddly specific like that. It’s like a collective sort of name.” He dismissed, rolling onto his side so he could entirely face his boyfriend.

“...Where did Isabel and Farlan come from?”

“That doesn’t matter! Look, do you want to know what I named them or not?” he demanded, but there was no real irritation in his voice. In fact, he had his lips pinched eagerly as if he couldn’t wait to tell him this ingenious new name for his freckles.

Finally, he caved and decided to indulge in his excitement. “What did you name them?”

“ _Cinnamon buns.”_

Marco stared at him for one second, two seconds, three, and blinked at him owlishly. “Cinnamon buns...?”

Jean couldn’t hold back his grin anymore; it took over all of his features, and his eyes practically twinkled. “ _Yes!_ Because you’ve got a really sweet ass, and the freckles look like the little cinnamon bits a cinnamon roll! Hence the name Cinnamon _buns_.”

The freckled man said nothing, only stared at his boyfriend in disbelief.

“Well? Isn’t it the best fucking nick-name you’ve ever heard?” Jean insisted, and soon Marco couldn’t keep a straight face anymore. A snort escaped from his nose, and he attempted to cover it up with his mouth but it was too late. Marco was overtaken with bubbly laughter, and there was no stopping it now.

Jean took his uncontrollable giggles as a good sign, and he gave a smug, proud smile. “ _See?!_ It’s _perfect,_ right?”

The brunette just rolled away from Jean and continued laughing, shaking the entire bed structure with his cackles. Jean whined and scooted closer to his escaping boyfriend, and wrapped his arms and legs around him like an octopus. Marco tried to wriggle away, but it was no use. There was no escape, and he was going to be subjected to cuddles for the rest of the night.

Not that he minded, though.

And as their bubbly laughter died down, their sleepiness became too overpowering, and the two of them drifted off into a blissful slumber.

.

..

...

The next morning, Marco was awoken by the sound of a door opening, followed by incoherent shrieking.

“OH MY GOD, _YOU GUYS_ , THEY GOT _LAID!”_

 _“_ ALRIGHT, _BODT! GET IT SON!”_

 _“_ DID YOU USE MY CONDOMS? PLEASE TELL ME YOU USED MY GLOW-IN-THE-DARK CONDOMS.”

“Wow, that is a  _lot_ of hickies.”

“DON’T LOOK, KRISTA! IT’S TOO INDECENT FOR YOUR INNOCENT EYES!”

“How much do you bet Marco was the one topping?”

“No way, it had to have been Jean!”

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy’? It was obviously Marco.”

“Why don’t you just ask them...?”

“Oho, nice idea! Hey, Jean! Marco! Wake up! Which of you was the pitcher and who was the catcher?!”

 

...He _knew_ he should have locked their door last night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guys guess who said what in the last part of this chapter? Whoever gets it right gets a...drawing from this fic or something!  
> I'm honestly so sad to see this story go! But all good things must come to an end some day, and that day is today. I'm really glad i got this out when I said I would, and didn't have to keep any of you waiting.  
> This is the first multi chapter I've ever written, and I'm honestly so proud of the amount of growth I've done throughout the story. The beginning chapters were messes, with large chunks of paragraphs and strange pacing that I honestly cringed at when I read.  
> But now I've got my pacing down, and my very own writing style, all because of this fic!  
> And I want to thank YOU, readers! Thank you for reading this story of mine! Because if it weren't for you, I would have never gotten past chapter 1. YOU GUYS made this story for me, YOU GUYS brought me inspiration, it was YOU GUYS who helped me out when I was in a rough writing patch. You all gave me confidence in my writing ability, and I would have never gotten it had I not decided to take the risk and have people read it.  
> So thank you, thank you so much! I'm eternally grateful, and I honestly think I'll remember this experience for the rest of my life.  
> As always, my [tumblr](http://kagayama--tobio.tumblr.com) is always open for questions, comments, or just a random hello!  
> I'll hopefully see you guys in my other fics! Goodbye! I love you all so so very much! <3  
> 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my fic! Leave me a comment and let me know what you think, i'll really take your input to heart!  
> Do you think this is an alright Title for it? Also, if anything in here seems incorrect, please tell me, i'm not in college, but i want to have things be as accurate as possible. Thanks!


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